


A Simple Favour

by dailandin



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Arranged Marriage, Edelgard Uses Diplomacy, Fantasy Politics, Idiots in Love, It's super effective!, M/M, Mutual Pining, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-12-28 09:23:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21134402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dailandin/pseuds/dailandin
Summary: When Duke Aegir tells Ferdinand he has arranged for him to be married, Ferdinand is not surprised. An arranged marriage is something expected when one is part of the nobility.What is not so expected is for the identity of his intended to be kept a complete secret.





	1. A Secret Betrothal

**Author's Note:**

> When I first picked up this game, I was not that interested in the Black Eagles or Hubert and Ferdinand as characters. After seeing their supports, reading the amazing fics out there and getting to play them myself on my BE playthrough, I've now fallen for these two idiots and their Fantasy P&P bullshit.
> 
> I considered going full AU with this, but removing the central conflict entirely erased the motivations of too many characters and relationships. So, instead, I decided to make Canon work for me. Think of this as a "What If" scenario that explores what may have happened if Edelgard and Hubert tried to their use words before declaring war on an entire continent. I guess it's a mix of GD+BE routes, mixing Edelgard's motivations with the lore you get on Verdant Wind.
> 
> (Nobody dies because I'm weak and hate unnecessary suffering on my fics)

“Engaged?” the questions bumbles its way out of Ferdinand’s lips before he has a chance to think better of it. The pitch a bit too high, and the tone a bit too distressed for his liking, and that of his Father’s, if the pointedly raised eyebrow he gets in response is any indication “You mean- to be married?”

“That is usually the intent behind an engagement, yes” Duke Aegir’s tone is flat, dispassionate, yet Ferdinand cannot help but sense the underlying vein of mockery underneath it.

“Of course, of course” he shifts uncomfortably in his chair, eyes nervously flitting around his Father’s study, from the heavily ornate windows, to the mountains of paper covering his dark wooden desk, before he steels himself and forces his back straight and his hands still, as poised and collected as a true noble should be “May I then enquire as to the name of my new intended?”

“You may not”

“I- but, why?”

“It is not relevant” 

“Not relevant?” Ferdinand exclaims, momentarily forgetting himself “How can it be ‘not relevant’? That’s the woman I am set to marry! How can I hope to court her properly if I don't even know her name?”

Even if he is set to marry for duty, Ferdinand had always planned on having the chance to court his future espouse, as is befitting a true noble, and especially the heir to House Aegir. He has plans. He has several scrapbooks worth of plans. From lavish nights out at the Mittlefrank Opera, to elaborate bouquets of the most delicate blossoms in Fódlan, and intimate tea dates in the Imperial Gardens of Enbarr.

“There is no need for all that nonsense” Father says, waving a hand as if to brush away Ferdinand’s foolish fancies “The match has been agreed and arranged, the wedding will happen regardless of you showering them with lilies in advance or not. There is no need to lose your time on such frusilleries.”

“Frusilleries!” He clutches a hand to his chest as he struggles to contain his outburst. He has always known Father cared more for the intricacies of politics and power, than the more genteel displays of nobility, and yet, to have his courting plans so easily dismissed stings more than the disfavorable comparisons to Edelgard’s unending achievements.

“Yes, Ferdinand, frusilleries” Father crosses his arms and fixes him with an admonishing glare “You are set to enter the prestigious Garreg Mach Officer’s Academy in a week, as is the von Hresvelg heiress. I hope I do not need to emphasise to you how important it is that your performance in your studies matches what is expected of the heir of House Aegir. Given your track record where von Hresvelg is concerned, it is safe to say you cannot afford any distractions if you are to have any chance of surpassing her”

Ferdinand opens his mouth to protest, he is quite capable of excelling in his studies and carrying out a courtship at the same time, thank you very much, but Father interrupts him, before he has a chance to utter a word.

“The wedding will not happen until you come of age in three years. The only reason I am telling you now is to forestall any dalliances you may have chosen to indulge in at the Academy. This match is of the utmost importance” Father declares, preempting Ferdinand’s sputtered protests “it will help secure House Aegir’s place within the Empire, and I will not have anything, not even you, risk it. Understood?”

Ferdinands bites his lower lip, a thousand protests ready to spurt forth at the tip of his tongue (the first one against the insinuation that he would debase himself on some illegitimate affair, foregoing his noble duty, arranged marriage notwithstanding), but he stops himself, knowing his complaints will fall on deaf ears and will only serve to worsen Father’s disposition towards him.

“Understood” he nods.

“Good, I knew you would understand. You are a good boy, Ferdinand. This will be a most profitable match, you will see. I would have held the wedding earlier if I could, but your fiancée insisted on waiting until you were of age. My advise, dear boy, is not to concern yourself too much with it until then”

Ferdinand nods again, silently filing away the small slice of information Father carelessly let slip through. His fiancée is older than he is, old enough to have had a seat at the betrothal negotiations, at the very least, and from a powerful Adrestian noble family. It is not much to go on, though. The description encapsulates about two thirds of unmarried Adrestian nobility, from his second-cousin Claudia, who just came of age this past spring, and is set to inherit a small barony, to Duke Rusalka, a three-times widower with more kids than teeth, who owns the adjacent lands to Aegir territory. 

Ferdinand will do as Father said and focus on his studies, the only thing in his life he still seems to have any control over, to be the best he can be, better than Edelgard, better than anyone else at the Academy. If he cannot court his fiancée, the best he can do is improve himself as much as he can in order to impress them.

***

The journey to Garreg Mach is a most unpleasant one, as he is forced to share a carriage with Edelgard and her sinister retainer.

Hubert von Vestra has followed Edelegard around like a particularly offensive smell for as long as Ferdinand can remember, a lanky, greasy haired, and pale skinned boy always hovering above Edelgard’s shoulder, nose turned up and mouth twisted in a perpetual derisive sneer. 

He has not changed much since the last time Ferdinand saw him. If anything, he has grown lankier and paler, the sickly tone of his skin made more evident by the contrast with his dark hair, falling limply over his face, and the almost feverish shine of his pale green eyes. Next to him, Edelgard looks as regal and collected as the marble statues adorning the Imperial Palace in Enbarr, clothes perfectly pressed, features schooled into a serene, controlled mask, and not a single, silver hair out of place. Her appearance alone would be enough to make Ferdinand self-conscious about his own frizzy hair and rustled clothes, if Hubert did not look like something that just crawled out of the gutter by comparison. Difference, of course, being that Hubert probably embraces both Edelgard’s superiority and his own rat-like looks, while Ferdinand just feels plain inadequate and awkward.

“I have heard about your engagement, Ferdinand” Edelgard says, once he has taken his seat across from her. She does not even look at him, her gaze lost somewhere on the rapidly fading landscapes passing through the window “I believe congratulations are in order” she adds, as polite and correct as ever, even if by the monotone tone of her voice, one would say she is making an observation about the weather rather than offering her well wishes for his upcoming nuptials.

Ferdinand responds with a very unnoble-like snort “Yeah, sure”

Edelgard hums noncommittally. Hubert glares at him from his seat next to her. Ferdinand glares back. What is he supposed to say? ‘Thank you, Edelgard, I am very excited to marry this completely unknown entity of a person my Father has just sold me off to. I would send you an invite to the wedding, except, I do not think I will even be allowed to pick the flowers, let alone decide the guests’ 

Hubert’s glare intensifies, his one visible eye fixated on Ferdinand, barely even blinking. He is lounging back in his seat, long legs spread out across the carriage, the tips of his black boots almost brushing Ferdinand’s own, and his head reclining, almost indulgently, in his raised hand by the window. He somehow manages to make this apparently relaxed posture look threatening.

Ferdinand squirms in his seat, averting his gaze to look at floor. 

“I mean, thanks, Edelgard” he mutters, risking a small glance at her. She nods, her eyes still lost somewhere in the far distance. Clearly, Ferdinand’s marriage plans do not rank very high on her current list of interests.

An awkward silence falls over the carriage. Ferdinand can still feel Hubert’s glare burning a hole through the top of his head. He keeps his own eyes firmly attached to the floor, hoping to conceal the embarrassed blush spreading across his cheeks at the silent judgement coming from the opposite bench. 

“I did not know you would be joining us at the Academy, Hubert” he says, hoping for a change of subject, all the while keeping his eyes firmly attached to the floor. His boots have some old, caked mud in them, he absently notices, Edelgard’s, on the other hand, are absolutely pristine.

“I’m Lady Edelgard’s servant” Hubert declares, voice deceptively soft “it’s my duty to ensure her stay at Garreg Mach is a pleasant one”

_ And to make everyone else’s downright terrifying _Ferdinand muses, still feeling that one pale, green eye scrutinizing his every movement.

It is one, long, awkward, and silent carriage ride. Edelgard spends the entire time lost in her own thoughts, not even sparing a glance to her companions. Ferdinand is left to fidget in his seat, restless with pent up energy and increasingly stressed out by Hubert’s creepy intense staring. He feels like he is somehow being examined, evaluated against some unknown standards, his worth weighted, only to be ultimately found wanting. 

It is the worst feeling ever.

***

The Officer’s Academy does help take his mind off his unexpected engagement.

The academic year starts with a bang, with a failed attempt on the House Leaders’ lifes and the last-minute appointment of a new professor, a mercenary killing machine in booty shorts and tank top armour, as the new tutor for the Golden Deer House.

Edelgard seems more upset for the appointment of the professor to another house than she is for the attempt on her life. Hubert, for once, does not match her moods, and makes it clear on more than one occasion how he much prefers being assigned Professor Manuela as House tutor over the newly-appointed Professor Byleth. It is not clear whether his preferences have to do with Professor Manuela’s actual expertise as an instructor, Professor Byleth’s assumed lack of one, or just a deliberate and obstinate desire to be contrary, which would be just like him.

Ferdinand had not cared much about the new professor before that. A true noble does not need to deal with mercenaries, and albeit, as a warrior, he can appreciate her skills (and her legs, as a still growing teenage boy), he is initially not overly interested in finding out more about her, especially given that she is not even assigned to the Black Eagles. Edelgard’s interest in her, and Hubert’s declared dislike, promptly change that, and it suddenly becomes essential for Ferdinand to find out more about this blank faced mercenary who is capable of setting Edelgard and Hubert at odds with her mere existence.

***

“I was hoping you could help me find someone who could appreciate a gift like that” 

Professor Byleth stares silently at him, her dead fish eyes travelling from his face to the new, porcelain tea set he is holding in his hands. There is something slightly upsetting about her stare, a blankness more fitting to a stone cold statue than an actual human being. 

Ferdinand shuffles his feet in place, and offers her his best smile in return. As vacant and alien as her eyes may be, she still has got nothing on Hubert and his death glares, and Ferdinand has to deal with those on a daily basis. A new staple of his new life at the monastery. 

(To be honest, Hubert does seem to regard most people he comes across with a look most would reserve for a particularly disgusting piece of dirt stuck to the sole of their shoe. However, and even taking Hubert’s general dislike for everyone-not-Edelgard into account, he seems to reserve his most vicious looks for Ferdinand, and Ferdinand alone. 

Ferdinand is quickly becoming immune.)

“I know just the person” she says, and holds out her hands to take the tea set, a hint of what might be a smile playing on the corner of her lips. 

Ferdinand hands it over, with a returning smile of his own. Turns out the Professor may be a normal human after all, even if a bit socially awkward and quiet.

(Of course, she then takes off running like she is being chased by Nemesis himself, nearly barrelling into one of the Monastery monks, and sending a couple of cats scrambling for safety, and Ferdinand is forced to quickly re-asses his earlier assumption. The Professor may be polite and capable of emotion, but she is still anything but normal)

***

“I must say, it’s refreshing to find someone who can appreciate a good brew” Ferdinand says as he re-fills his and Lorenz’s cups “I was starting to suspect I was the only person in the monastery with a taste for tea”

His new friendship with Lorenz, started thanks to the Professor and her uncanny gift-giving skills, has been one of the highlights of Ferdinand’s new life at Garreg Mach. They have taken to meeting once a week, in the gardens, to try out new blends, discuss politics, and gossip about their fellow classmates. For the first time, in maybe forever, Ferdinand has someone he can call, without any doubts or reservations, a true friend. Sure, he likes his fellow Black Eagles well enough, and trusts them to have his back in the battlefield but, unfortunately, none of them make very good tea partners.

Dorothea, he guesses, would probably be the best option, with her natural elegance and incessant love for gossip, if it were not for the lamentable fact that she seems to hate his guts. Petra likes him well enough, and makes for a wonderful sparring partner, but is not that interested in willing away an afternoon over tea and pastries. Caspar is way too energetic, even for Ferdinand, and Lindhardt tips too far down the opposite end of the scale. Bernadetta is reluctant to leave her room for anything not-class related, and last time Ferdinand attempted to lure her out he ended up with a sprained wrist. Hubert, of course, is a no-go. Even taking his preference for coffee out of the equation, his general cantankerous disposition and biting comments do not exactly help on making him pleasant company. As for Edelgard… Ferdinand does not know if it is possible for her to “beat” him at tea drinking, but as she already excels above him in everything else, it is not a risk he is willing to take.

As a consequence, Ferdinand now spends his tea time consolidating diplomatic ties between the Empire and the Alliance, and getting the freshest, juiciest gossip about the mysterious Professor Byleth. 

If he has to be honest, he is starting to feel a bit jealous of Lorenz and his classmates. The Black Eagles’ missions have been nowhere as existing as the Golden Deer escapades. A few bandit hunts, and one or two escort missions for nobles and diplomats. Meanwhile, Lorenz has helped quell religious rebellions, retrieved sacred relics, and fought against the mysterious Death Knight. This month the Golden Deer have been assigned to retrieve House Gautier’s hero relic, the Lance of Ruin, while Ferdinand and his classmates are to be sent off to chase a couple of cattle robbers.

“I wouldn’t say no to chasing cattle robbers for a month” Lorenz muses, delicately stirring a spoonful of sugar into his cup “The Death Knight almost managed to kill both the Professor and Claude in the Holy Mausoleum. And, to be honest, the Sword of the Creator gives me the hibbie jibbies” 

“How can you say that? It is the absolute pinnacle of weapon design, wielded by the King of Liberation himself, nothing in Almyra or Dagda even compares- Hey, do you think Professor Byleth would let me borrow it? I would love the chance to study such a magnificent weapon”

“Doubtful. She does not even let Claude touch it,” Lorenz takes a sip, places his cup back on the saucer, and leans in conspiratorially “and I would advise you to be more careful about your interest in the relics. Claude just got banned from the Library for asking one too many questions about crests and Nemesis”

“Banned? Surely you jest”

Lorenz lets out an exasperated sigh “I wish. He seems to be convinced of some grand hidden conspiracy involving the Church and half of Fódlan. Pretty rich considering he just sprouted up less than a year ago from Goddess knows where, and side steps all questions about his past with all the skill of a professional Dagdan dancer”

Ferdinand raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his own cup. He considers Claude to be a pleasant enough fellow, if a bit eccentric, for a noble, but after Hubert expressed his begrudging respect for him after the Mock Battle, Ferdinand cannot help but eye him a bit warily. One does not earn Hubert’s respect (as reluctantly given as it is) by being upstanding, noble, and playing by the rules.

“And the Professor just encourages him!” Lorenz exclaims, gaining steam when Ferdinand does not speak “Ever time he proposes one his inane theories she just goes along with it. They have no respect for the Church, either of them”

Ferdinand starts at that “Do you think- would they do something like, you know, Lord Lonato-”

“Hardly. Lonato resented the Church for the death of his son. Claude and the Professor are mostly… apathetic towards it, I guess. I mean, I don’t care much for the church myself-”

“Lorenz!” Ferdinand gasps in surprise “I have seen you at the Cathedral more than once. Surely you do not mean that”

“As a noble I’m supposed to be pious and pay my respects to the Church, and I have no trouble fulfilling those duties” a sigh, as Lorenz idly picks at a bitten down biscuit in his plate “Personally, though, I must admit I do not find religion all that interesting. Not in the way Marianne does, anyway”

The Church has been a constant in Ferdinand’s life ever since he was born. While its presence is not as powerful in the Empire as in Faerghus, weekly services, Saint days, and other celebrations are still observed by all noble families. Admittedly, Ferdinand himself has never given it much thought, he does enjoy choir practice in the cathedral, and attends mass every once in a while, but clearly does not feel the blind devotion in the way people like Mercedes or Marianne do.

He just never thought not caring about the Goddess was an option. Can you really ignore a divine being ruling all over existence?

***

“I see you are making new friends, _ Ferdie” _

“Aaaaagh!” Ferdinand jumps about a feet in the air at the sound of a sibiline voice coming from behind him in his _ supposedly _ empty room, the stack of books he was carrying tumbling to the floor as he flays around, trying to find a weapon to defend himself from the intruder.

“What the- Hubert!” he exclaims, spotting the other man’s silhouette within the shadows behind his door “You scared me to death! What do you think you are doing?”

“I was just checking in with you. It seems lately you barely spend anytime with your fellow classmates”

“What the- I was just sparring with Petra earlier this morning! And I spent all afternoon in the Library with Linhardt yesterday! And- and I don’t have to give you any explanation as to whom I spend my time with!”

It is not like Hubert himself spends much time fraternising with their fellow classmates either. In fact, the few times Ferdinand has seen him interact with any Black Eagles students it has been to berate them for inappropriate behavior or to lament their supposed ineptitude.

So what if he has friends outside his house? Surely his good manners and pleasant disposition speak much more favorably about the Empire’s nobility, than Hubert’s own skulking around dark corners like a deranged overgrown bat. 

“No need to be so defensive” Hubert replies. His voice is soft, yet his lips are twisted in a mocking smirk, and his eyes are frosted jade “_ I _couldn’t care less who you spend your time with. As long as you do not forget your loyalties, of course. As future Prime Minister of Adrestia a certain amount of… discretion, is expected of you”

“I am frankly offended that you would even doubt my loyalty to the Empire. I am a von Aegir, a noble servant of Adrestia, like my Father before me” 

Hubert’s eyes narrow at that, his gaze bearing into Ferdinand with unprecedented intensity.

“Anyway,” Ferdinand continues “I thought the entire point of this Academy was to foster cooperation between territories. Any friendships I make with foreign nobles should be counted as a success of Adrestian diplomacy”

“I see”

“You do? How wonderful” Ferdinand replies, not even bothering to hide his sneer “Then if you could please remove yourself from my room I would be most grateful” he says, sketching a mocking bow and extending one arm in the general direction of the door.

Hubert does not even glance at his extended arm as he walks across the room and sits himself on the bed, legs extended and crossed at the ankles, as he reclines back on his hand, making himself at home “What do you discuss, then, in these _ diplomatic _meetings of yours?”

“_Things” _ Ferdinand snaps, quickly running out of patience.

“Noble things?” Hubert asks, that irritating smirk still playing across his lips, as always relishing the chance to tease and mock Ferdinand.

He has never wanted to punch anyone more in his entire life. It is truly a testament to his education and nobility that he does not snap and wipes that infuriating smirk of Hubert’s face with his fists.

He forces himself to stop grinding his teeth. Takes a deep breath, steels himself, and puts on his most pleasant smile.

“Well, two days ago Lorenz and I had a most interesting discussion about religion and the role of the Church within the Estate”

“Oh?” Hubert picks at a discarded bracer lying on the bed, feigning nonchalance, but Ferdinand does note the way his shoulders tense at the mention of the Church, how his eyes suddenly becomes a tad more alert, more focused.

Smirking to himself at his perception skills, Ferdinand elaborates on his findings. Let Hubert see the benefits of amicable international relations over secret scheming and bribery “Apparently the Alliance could end up breaking ties with the Church of Seiros in the near future. It seems Claude does not place much trust in the institution, and according to Lorenz most Lords on the Roundtable do not care much for religion one way or the other. Even in the Kingdom, Dimitri has mentioned his intention to allow freedom of religion, as part of his intentions to rebuild ties with Duscur”

“Fascinating”

Hubert’s one visible eye is fixed on Ferdinand, cold, calculating. The mocking smirk has gone, but Ferdinand is not so sure he likes the assessing look that has replaced it.

“Tell you what,” Hubert says, breaking eye contact and pushing himself off the bed with one languid, elegant motion. He is all long legs and sharp edges, and really has no business moving as gracefully as he does, Ferdinand thinks, as he watches him stalk across the room with the deadly grace of a natural born predator “there may be something to this ‘diplomacy efforts’ of yours. How about a deal?”

Ferdinand eyes him warily, taking a step backwards, almost without thinking, until his back is flush against the wall. 

“A deal?” As far as he knows Hubert’s ‘deals’ tend to happen in dark alleyways, way past the time for respectable people to be wandering about, and more often than not end with one of parties permanently indisposed.

“A favour owed, in exchange for information” Hubert says, hands crossed behind his back as he leans slightly forward, using his greater height to its best advantage, to loom over Ferdinand, caging him in against the wall “You give me detailed reports about your_ diplomatic meetings _, with other houses, and in exchange I’ll owe you a favour”

“What kind of favour?”

“Anything you want, as long as it’s within my power to deliver, and it doesn’t mean any harm to Lady Edelgard” Hubert whispers.

“You could do my chores for the rest of the year?” Ferdinand suggests. 

Hubert snorts in response “Sure, if you wanted to waste it on something as banal as that. I could also get you out of your unwanted engagement”

That is an enticing offer. As much as Ferdinand has done his best to push any thoughts about the betrothal to the back of his mind, it looms like a dark cloud on the horizon. He would very much like for it to clear. He also very much fears Hubert’s methods, which probably involved getting rid of his intended altogether.

“Please don’t kill my fiancée”

“Don’t be ridiculous” Hubert snaps “I can end a stupid betrothal without needing to resort to _ murder. _There are many ways to accomplish things without killing people”

Ferdinand notes he says nothing about blackmail, coercion or bribery.

“Could I think about it?”

Even if Hubert manages to, uh... ‘dispose’ of Ferdinand’s fiancée, that still leaves him with his angry Father to deal with. He doubts Duke Aegir will take the news of a void engagement very favourably, and Ferdinand does not want to disappoint him.

Hubert nods, stepping away and finally allowing Ferdinand some room to breath “I did say a favour owed, it’s up to you to decide how and when to cash it in. In the meantime, we’ll meet here once a week, after supper, so you can pass along your reports”

“Can we meet in the Library?” Ferdinand asks, not too keen on having Hubert visiting his room on the regular “You coming to my room after dark it is… well, it is not proper”

“Oh please,” Hubert scoffs at him “don’t be melodramatic, you’re hardly a virginal maiden whose reputation will be soiled by my presence”

“I am engaged!” Ferdinand, who may not be a maiden, but is most definitely still a virgin, screeches in response.

“I assure you I have no designs upon your virtue” Hubert hisses, his voice dripping with disdain. 

Such a declaration should not hurt, but Ferdinand still flinches at the vicious tone. His face reddening in an unflattering mix of embarrassment and indignation. He does not know why he still has not kicked Hubert out of his room and into the corridor. Surely he does not need to stand for such slander in his own quarters.

“Do we have a deal?” 

“Yes. Sure” Ferdinand replies. He can indulge Hubert’s psychotic paranoia in exchange for a favour owed. He will find a use for it. Something non-lethal. And legal. Ideally, humiliating for Hubert as well.

***

Their new arrangement proves to be more bearable than Ferdinand expected. He now keeps a tin of ground coffee in his room, has even become used to its overpowering smell everytime he opens the tea cabinet. He still considers the drink to be an affront to any educated palate, but there is no denying Hubert becomes more agreeable when plied with the bitter sludge.

Since the entirety of Fódlan seems to have gone barking mad, Ferdinand never runs out of interesting information to report. From Miklan Gautier’s transformation into a demonic beast, to Flayn’s kidnapping by Professor Jeritza, or the conflict with the Western Church. However, Hubert does not seem overly interested in any of these disturbing events, his focus seems to be in their fellow students’ thoughts and reactions. How Sylvain blames the crest system for what happened to his brother and his own self-worth issues, how Lysithea would rather be recognised on her own merits and hard work, rather than on the value of the crests she bears, Felix’s patented disdain for the Nobility system as a whole, or Claude’s declared atheism.

Hubert always listens attentively, carefully sipping his black brew of death and despair, and taking the occasional note on a small leather notebook he carries with him. He has surprisingly elegant writing, almost delicate. (Ferdinand would compliment him on it, if such praise would earn him anything but a withering scowl in return)

It is somewhat unexpected how easy they slip into a tentative camaraderie. Ferdinand would not go as far as to call them ‘friends’, but they seem to have moved from reluctant acquaintances to, at least, colleagues. 

“Associates” drolls Hubert, without even raising his eyes from his notes, when Ferdinand brings it up “Don’t push your luck, von Aegir”

Associates, then. The point is, they work well together. Ferdinand’s people skills and empathy balanced out by Hubert’s analytical mind and strategising prowess. He has no doubt that once they return to the Empire, and take their respective places as Edelgard’s advisors, they can help usher in a new age of international cooperation in Fódlan.

***

It is during the Red Wolf Moon that things start taking a turn for the bizarre.

It all starts when Dorothea invites herself for tea. She does seem to have changed her view of him, after Ferdinand’s baking efforts, but it still remains to be seen if that change is for the better.

She does not talk much. Just sips her tea and eyes both Ferdinand and Lorenz over the rim of her cup. Ferdinand cannot help but feel judged, even if he does not know what for. Lorenz is also visibly uncomfortable, squirming in his seat and casting rapid side glances at Dorothea every few seconds. It is the most awkward tea date Ferdinand has had the displeasure of attending.

He sneaks a sideways glance at her as he picks a berry tart off the tray, only to find her attention has drifted away from their table to somewhere across the gardens. Ferdinand follows her gaze to where Hubert is standing with Claude, heads bent close together and engaged in what seems to be an engrossing conversation, all rapid whispers and hand gestures. 

It is the first time Ferdinand has seen him speaking with a student outside of the Black Eagles house.

“Well, that’s new…” Dorothea muses “I wasn’t aware those two got along”

Claude laughs at something Hubert has just said, loud enough to carry across the courtyard, and gives him a friendly clap on the shoulder. To Ferdinand’s shock, Hubert does not blast Claude with a Miasma spell, or even slap his hand away. He just gives the Golden Deer House Leader a burning glare which is not even amongst the most vicious on his arsenal. Ferdinand would know, he has received several of those.

“Does Claude have a death wish?” Lorenz wonders aloud.

“Don’t be silly” Dorothea admonishes him, not taking her eyes away from the unlikely meeting taking place across from them “Hubie is a bit prickly, but he’s really sweet once you get to know him, right Ferdie?”

Ferdinand boggles at her. There are many words that he could use to describe Hubert, ‘sweet’ is definitely not one of them. ‘Loyal’, ‘driven’, ‘sarcastic’,...‘clever’ if he were feeling generous, but not ‘sweet’. Goddess knows Hubert is as prickly as a cactus.

“He’s okay, I guess…?” 

He has proven to be somewhat tolerable company during their information meetings, showing some inspired insight into international politics and keeping the barbed comments, and murderous glares, to a minimum.

“I’m sure he’s a regular teddy bear” Lorenz snorts “it still doesn’t explain what the hell he and Claude are whispering about over there”

“Do you think they are planning something?” Dorothea wonders, excitement clear in her voice, as she leans over the back of her chair, straining her neck to get a closer look.

“Mass poisoning?” Lorenz answers her, voice dry with sarcasm.

Ferdinand is about to reply how targeted, untraceable poisoning is much more Hubert’s style, when Hubert finally spots them. 

His pale green eyes narrow in annoyance as he unceremoniously grabs Claude by the arm and drags him away, out of sight and hearing range, throwing a warning glance at Ferdinand over his shoulder, as he disappears behind the bushes.

“How curious…” Dorothea says, gaze still fixed on the spot where Hubert and Claude previously stood.

Ferdinand sips his tea, grown slightly cold, as he nods in agreement. How very curious indeed.

***

It does not stop there. 

Over the next few weeks, Ferdinand sees Edelgard engaged in deep conversations Dimitri and Dedue on more than one occasion, sometimes with Hubert lurking behind her, sometimes alone. Dimitri and Claude are also spotted sharing their meals on the Dining Hall, and Hilda offers to ‘help’ Dedue with the cooking (meaning Dedue does all the work, while she talks his ear off and files her nails). He sees Hubert with Claude a few more times, usually accompanied by Professor Byleth, and once, even with Seteth. 

Ferdinand is glad to see the House Leaders reaching across territory lines and befriending each other. They do set a wonderful example, and soon enough it is as if the lines between houses start to blurr. Felix starts sparring with Leonie, while Sylvain cheers him on from the sidelines and Caspar eagerly awaits his turn, Marianne and Mercedes go praying together, Hilda takes to visiting Bernadetta in her room after they bond over their shared love for handicrafts, and Dorothea joins Annette in her quest to make Ingrid appreciate make up. It is a nice change from the constant rivalry and Ferdinand welcomes it with open arms, even if he cannot help but feel that there is something more behind the sudden change in their House Leaders’ attitudes.

He knows, for sure, there is something bigger than just an improvement in inter-house relations going on when he spots Hubert pulling weeds in the courtyard while Hilda blathers on about Goddess knows what as she stands next to him doing absolutely nothing to help. There is change, and then there is _ that. _ As good as Hilda is at playing the defenseless maiden to get others to do her chores for her, Hubert is the type of petty asshole who would not spit on someone if they were on fire.

***

“I may be overthinking things, but don’t you think Hubert and Edelgard are up to something?” he asks the rest of their ever-growing table during the next afternoon tea.

Dorothea has now become a fixture of their tea dates. She still spends most of her time silently judging him and Lorenz, and her comments, whenever she deigns to make them, are barely veiled digs at nobility and privilege, but she seems to be gradually warming up to them (otherwise, Ferdinand does not understand why she keeps showing up)

“Ooooh, some secret plan, you mean?” croons Hilda, who has invited herself over for the week.

“I do not know, they have been acting a bit weird, is all” Ferdinand muses “Hubert was helping you pull weeds last week. Hubert!”

“Oh, that. He was just being a proper gentleman,” Hilda easily deflects, waving her hand carelessly “helping a delicate flower such as myself with a very arduous task”

“That is the thing” Ferdinand insists “Hubert does not_ help _people. Not for free”

Edelgard is the one notable exception, of course. Hubert will always go out of his way to provide assistance to his ward, no matter how minimal the task, but he will not lift a single finger to help anyone else, unless there is something in it for him, or Edelgard, to profit from. He is a loyal and dedicated servant to his Lady, of this, there is no doubt but he is in no way a good samaritan.

“I did give him my most honest thanks” Hilda replies, batting her eyelashes at him, the perfect picture of innocence. 

Ferdinand does not buy her act for a second. He may have fallen for her tricks on one or two occasions but he likes to think he is wisening up. Although he may still indulge her requests, from time to time, it has more to do with his duty as a noble than the misconception that Hilda is some empty headed delicate maiden unable to fend for herself.

“I do agree all our House Leaders have been acting a bit strange” Lorenz pipes up “But considering everything else that has been going on, I wouldn’t worry too much about it”

“I just find it suspicious” Ferdinand says “Why would Hubert-”

“Oh, please” Dorothea interrupts him “‘Hubert this, Hubert that’, you do seem awfully preoccupied, Ferdie. Could it be someone has a little crush?“

“A crush?” Ferdinand exclaims, sputtering in protest “as if I would be interested in such a disreputable character. Plus, I am an engaged man, it would be most improper of me to entertain fanciful thoughts about anyone else but my intended”

“Oh, my Ferdie, why didn’t you tell me you were engaged?” Dorothea exclaims, her inner gossip springing to attention.

“Who is it?” Hilda prompts, resting her elbows on the table and her chin over her cupped hands “Anyone we know?”

Ferdinand hunches his shoulders, a bit overwhelmed at his friends enthusiasm and curiosity regarding his engagement “I mean, I don’t even know her name…”

Dorothea covers her mouth with one hand, the other posed over her breast, as if scandalised by the reveal “A secret fiancée! How old fashioned and romantic.”

“Is it?” Hilda questions, before Ferdinand has any chance to answer himself “Wouldn’t you want to know who you are marrying?”

“Father wants me to focus on my studies” Ferdinand weakly argues. He would like to know who he is marrying. He would like that very much. But he knows better than to try and defy his father, and the only alternative he has at the moment are Hubert’s more than questionable methods “The marriage will be very profitable for House Aegir, and as the heir I must fulfill my duty”

“A noble’s duty is a heavy load to carry” agrees Lorenz “My father also wants me to marry soon, although he has allowed me a bit more freedom as to the choice of partner…” 

“Oh, yes, you poor privileged things,” Dorothea rolls her eyes at both of them “believe it or not, pressure to marry is not exclusive to nobility and most of us do not have great holdings and fortunes to sweeten the deal”

“My brother told me I don’t have to marry if I don’t want to” Hilda proudly declares “I guess those are the advantages of being a second-born…”

“That is very noble of Lord Holst” Ferdinand tells her, eager to redirect the conversation away from his betrothal.

Dorothea is having none of it.

“You must know _ something _, though, Ferdie” she prods him, clearly relishing his discomfort “I can’t believe you haven’t tried to find out more about the person you’re gonna spend the rest of our life with”

Ferdinand, who has done his absolute best to simply ignore that person’s very existence, just shrugs “I trust Father’s judgement. I am sure my intended is a most noble and charming lady, and I look forward to getting better acquainted when the time comes”

The lie flows freely from his lips. Effortless. Hubert would be impressed. Perhaps with a little time and practice, Ferdinand will be able to fool even himself.

***

In a hopeful bid, Ferdinand actually asks Dorothea to the Ethereal Moon Grand Ball. But, as much as their relationship has improved over the last few months, it seems they are not quite in date territory yet.

“I already agreed to go with Petra last week” Dorothea tells him, putting on a decently plausible face of regret “Terribly sorry, Ferdie”

“It’s okay” Ferdinand quickly reassures her, a beaming smile firmly plastered on his face “I am sure I’ll be able to find another lady willing to go to the ball with the heir of House Aegir”

Maybe Bernadetta? Father would definitely approve. He casts a hopeful look around the Dining Hall, hoping to find a telltale messy head of purple hair.

“Hilda is also looking for a date,” Claude pipes up from where he is sitting with her in the next table “if you are interested”

“I thought you were going together?” Ferdinand asks. 

“I’m going stag” Claude proudly announces, snickering to himself at his own cleverness.

Hilda reaches across the table, batting her eyelashes and pursing her lips in a pout “Please, Ferdinand, you wouldn’t leave poor old me stuck with such a dork, would you?”

“Never fear, my lady” Ferdinand replies in his best Noble voice, catching Hilda’s hand and leaning down to press a kiss on top of it “It will be my honor to escort you to the ball so you don’t have to suffer any more of Claude’s terrible puns”

Hilda giggles in response “Such a gentleman!”

As Ferdinand raises his head back up, he spots a familiar face across the Dining Hall. Hubert stands next to the notice board, face twisted in a sneer as his gaze remains locked on Ferdinand and Hilda’s joint hands. 

For a moment, Ferdinand feels as if had been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, as if he were doing something illicit, yet he quickly shakes himself. It is not Hubert’s businesses who he goes to the ball with. He snaps his eyes away and turns his attention back to Hilda and Dorothea, who now have started a discussion in earnest about corsages and dresses, all the while feeling Hubert’s burning gaze at the back of his neck.

(Distantly, he wonders which unfortunate girl Hubert has blackmailed into accompanying him to the ball)

***

The Great Hall is lavishly decorated for the occasion. White flower garlands adorn the great colonnades, and dozens of candles hang from the walls, bathing the entire hall in an ethereal golden glow.

Edelgard and Dimitri inaugurate the dance, a gesture of unity the likes of which have not been seen in Fódlan for centuries. They move together seamlessly, Edelgard’s delicate beauty complementing perfectly Dimitri’s classical royal looks. Next to them, Claude and Professor Byleth stumble their way through the steps of a formal waltz, with none of the grace and poise of the two royals, yet with plenty of enthusiasm and cheer to make up for it (at least, on Claude’s side, the Professor has her accustomed blank stare on and looks more than a little lost).

As the notes for the inaugural waltz draw to a close, and a more upbeat song starts to play, Ferdinand pulls Hilda along with him to the dance floor. Despite her reputed laziness, Hilda turns out to be quite the accomplished dancer, effortlessly keeping up with Ferdinand as he spins her again, and again, all through the dance floor.

From the corner of his eye he can see Hubert dance with Edelgard, just once, before he retires to the sides for the rest of the celebration, keeping an eye on his lady, as she dances with a determined Petra, an over-enthusiastic Caspar, and then Dimitri once again.

Ferdinand himself has his dance card quite full. After a few dances, he and Lorenz exchange partners, and he finds himself waltzing and discussing horses with Marianne. Another switch, and he is now dancing with Ingrid, who turns out to be much less graceful on her feet than on horseback. Ingrid is replaced by Dorothea, a vision in her burgundy dress, and a marvelous dancer. Ferdinand could have danced with her all night, if Petra had not come to claim her away, leaving him to dance with Edelgard. He nearly stumbles when he realises who his new dance partner is, but at Edelgard’s pointedly raised eyebrow, he quickly collects himself and focuses on his steps. One-two-three. One-two-three, again, and again.

“You are quite the dancer, Ferdinand” Edelgard compliments him, as the son draws to a close, and Ferdinand feels himself blush with pride in response. Praise from Edelgard is as rare as it is precious, and despite their rivalry, Ferdinand knows to treasure it “I would love to have another dance with you later tonight, but now, I’m afraid I must go save Dimitri before Claude manages to embarrass both of them any further”

Ferdinand turns them around to have a look at where Dimitri is doing his honest best to lead Claude into some semblance of a waltz. The Faerghus prince is looking increasingly stressed, as Claude ignores the steps and just sways along to the music without a care in the world. Without another word, Ferdinand deftly maneuvers himself and Edelgard between the crowd of dancing couples, so she can graciously step in between the two House Leaders and relieve Dimitri of his uncoordinated dance partner.

Claude’s face lights up as he sees them, and promptly abandons Dimitri in favour of throwing his arms around Ferdinand “Ferdinand! My man, how about a dance?” and before Ferdinand has a chance to reply, he is whisked along in a maddening, endlessly twirling, uncoordinated jig.

He is starting to feel a little lightheaded from all the spinning, and his feet a bit sore from being tread on way too many times, when he is halted to an abrupt stop by a hand on his elbow.

Hubert looms over him, rudely interposing himself between Ferdinand and Claude. He also has the gall to look annoyed, brows furrowed and mouth twisted in a fine line of disapproval, as if he was not the one who just decided to cut in on their dance. 

Ferdinand opens his mouth to send him on his way, back to whatever dark corner he was previously lurking in, but Hubert cuts him off before he can utter a word “May I ask for this dance?”

Ferdinand wants to snap at him, wrestle his arm away and go back to spinning around with Claude (dancing, may be too fancy a description for what they were doing). He can taste the words on his mouth, savour the righteous indignation that will fuel them, but Hubert’s eyes are fixed on him, green turned a pale gold under the candlelight, and his grip on Ferdinand’s upper arm is like a claw, teetering on the edge of painful.

“I would love to” he snaps back instead.

If Hubert is surprised by his acquiescence, he does not show it, merely bowing his head and switching his grip from Ferdinand’s arm to his hand, his other hand coming to rest on his waist. Claude is quick to make himself scarce, throwing one playful wink at Ferdinand over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Ferdinand is too shocked to call after him. It is not until Hubert steps forward, fully expecting Ferdinand to walk back, following his lead, that Ferdinand breaks out of his stupor.

“Wait, why am I the lady in this?”

Hubert lets out a loud sigh and the hand on Ferdinand’s waist tightens just a bit, pushing him backwards. Ferdinand lets himself be led, if only to avoid standing still in the middle of the dance floor like a couple of idiots.

“Would you rather go back to being spun around like a windmill by von Riegan?” Hubert questions “You looked about ready to throw up before I intervened”

Ferdinand bites his tongue to forestall another retort. Reluctant as he is to admit it, dancing with Hubert, even in the lady’s role, is a marked improvement to having his feet trampled by Claude’s inexperienced steps. Hubert is not a flashy dancer by any means, but he is way more competent than Ferdinand gave him credit for, his movements measured and precise, his posture textbook perfect.

(To be fair, the only times he has ever seen Hubert dance, he had been paired up with Edelgard, who would be able to dance with a goose and still come out looking graceful, so Ferdinand’s misconceptions about Hubert’s dancing skills are somewhat justified)

However, as good a dancer as Hubert may be, Ferdinand is still annoyed with him, on principle, if nothing else “I still don’t get it why you get to lead” he mutters, staring at Hubert’s immaculately pressed collar.

“I’m taller” Hubert curtly replies with his usual derisive tone “It’s a simple matter of logistics, Ferdinand”

Ferdinand steps on his foot. Hard. Hubert’s resulting wince is extremely satisfactory.

“Don’t be a child” Hubert snaps, sending Ferdinand into a spin with more force than necessary, when Hubert reels him in, he is unable to stop the momentum and ends up smashing into the taller man’s chest. It is a surprisingly solid chest, considering its owner spends more time engrossed in his books and schemes than on the training grounds.

“What will you do if your dear fiancée turns out to be a gentleman, instead of the lady you are hoping for?” Hubert asks, his breath rustling the hairs on Ferdinand’s forehead.

At that, Ferdinand trips on his own feet, Hubert’s hold on him the only thing stopping from falling flat on his ass. As he rights himself, he sneaks a glance up at his companion. Hubert appears startled, a look most unusual for him. For a moment, Ferdinand wonders if Hubert knows more than he does about his intended, if perhaps through his shady dealings in Adrestia’s underworld he has managed to acquire some information to his engagement, but discards the notion almost immediately. If Hubert knew who Ferdinand’s fiancée was, he would not hesitate to lord the knowledge over him and tease him mercilessly with it.

“I guess it will depend on which one of us is the tallest” Ferdinand says, trying for a cheerful, teasing tone that, instead, ends up falling flat. Same sex marriages are not unheard of in Adrestia, but they are rare enough that he had not even considered the possibility.

Hubert says nothing, simply keeps staring at Ferdinand with his strange golden green eyes, face a perfect expressionless mask. They weave and turn amongst the dancers, the initial awkwardness gone and replaced by an easy ebb and flow. 

It should feel weirder. Being led around by someone else, having Hubert’s long fingers wrapped around his hand, his other hand resting on a tall shoulder. It should feel alien, uncomfortable, different. And, yet, it does not. After the initial surprise, Ferdinand finds it incredibly easy to follow Hubert’s lead, he even enjoys the comforting weight of the hand on his waist, or Hubert’s chin occasionally brushing the top of his head.

In some bizarre and unexplained way, it all feels right.

(When he eventually re-joins Hilda for a last dance, the placement of his hands feels awkward, her height too small, and it takes him a few missteps before he is able to regain his bearings and lead)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we switch to Hubert's POV and cover the second half of White Clouds.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated ;)


	2. Dubious Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, an update in less than two weeks. This must be a new record for me. Don't expect this to become the norm, although I'll do my best to keep updates semi-regular.
> 
> This chapter it's Hubert's POV and a lot of letters. It's a bit low on the romance, because I needed to get fantasy politics sorted and move some pieces into place for the next part of the story. I promise next chapter we're back to arranged marriage shenanigans.

Kronya’s little stunt threatens to destroy everything Hubert and Edelgard have been working for.

Hubert knows something has gone wrong the moment the Golden Deer class return from their assignment in the Chapel, faces grave and eyes downcast, Professor Byleth nowhere to be seen.

Ferdinand’s uncanny gossiping skills (or ‘diplomatic efforts’ as the fool likes to name them) soon complete the picture. Hubert listens to his report with a blank face, humming and nodding in all the right places to show an appropriate amount of sadness for the Professor’s loss, all the while wishing he could turn back the hands of time to go and wring Kronya’s scrawny neck. 

Ferdinand, of course, does not notice anything, too immersed in his grief over the tragedy and full of empathy towards the Professor. His eyes shine with the gloss of unshed tears and the spark of righteous indignation, the kind only available to naive, noble fools like him.

The report itself is pretty poor. Ferdinand foregoes any of his usual insights into other students’ motivations, and spends most of the time lamenting the misfortune and unfairness of Captain Jeralt’s tragic demise. It is a show worthy of a Mittlefrank Prima Donna, and completely useless as far as information gathering is concerned.

For the first time, Hubert is glad his Lady has decided to explore less confrontational options for bringing about her dreams. Given the amount of hand-wringing and lamenting going on with the Black Eagles members over a single death, he doubts they would have had the stomach for the bloody war he and his Lady had initially planned.

***

After three weeks of Professor Byleth wandering the halls of Garreg Mach like a soul lost in despair, Edelgard decides their best option is to come clean.

To say Hubert is reluctant to lay everything out in the open would be an understatement. So far they have managed to weave the threads of an alliance between nations while keeping their cards close to their chests. Dimitri had been too happy about the prospects of international cooperation to question Edelgard’s motives, and if Claude had suspected there was something else going on, he had had the good sense to keep those thoughts to himself.

Revealing the totality of their plans, the depth of the corruption within the Empire, and Edelgard’s own past, would leave them bare, exposed, and too open to retaliation for his taste.

“It’s a leap of faith, Hubert” Edelgard assures him, as they make their way towards the Professor’s room “I trust the Professor to see our cause is worthy”

Hubert does not trust anyone. Least of all a blank faced mercenary who popped out from nowhere and has the three future leaders of Fódlan eating out of her palm like anxious chicks. 

“At least let me take responsibility” he insists “Let me assume the role of the Flame Emperor, there’s no need to further expose yourself. If there’s any punishment to be met out, let it fall on my shoulders instead”

After a moment of hesitation, Edelgard nods. Her pale face the very image of determination, as she knocks on the Professor’s door.

Hubert stays back, comfortable in the knowledge that, no matter the outcome, his Lady will walk out clean. Blind trust falls are for fools like Ferdinand, those who wear their hearts on their sleeves for everyone to see, and have never had to worry about the dark shadows lingering on the corners of the room.

***

The discussion with the Professor goes as well as can be expected. 

She stares at Edelgard and Hubert all through their explanation, face blank and gaze empty. Next to her, Claude is practically bouncing in place as he does his best to refrain from interrupting every five minutes to ask questions.

Once Edelgard finishes her explanation, shoulders tense and hands locked into fists over her lap, looking as vulnerable and uncertain as Hubert has ever seen her, a heavy silence falls over the room.

Claude’s gaze fits over from Edelgard to Hubert, no doubt cataloguing every detail and every fault on their expressions, but Claude himself remains quiet. Hubert can tell there are a thousand questions swirling behind that too observant green gaze, but it seems that Claude is saving them for a later time.

The Professor sighs as she stands up. Her eyes, normally devoid of anything resembling emotion, now have a clear look of disappointment. It is mildly upsetting, even if Hubert has never cared much about her approval or opinion before. Her gaze passes over Lady Edelgard, who refuses to flinch, holding her chin high, as dignified as ever, before it switches to Hubert himself.

“You are the Flame Emperor” she says. It is not so much a question as a statement. A sentence.

Hubert nods. 

“I see” the Professor says.

It all happens too fast for Hubert to react. One moment he is staring down the Professor and her blank face of disappointment, and the next he is laying on the floor, a searing pain on his face, as he struggles to breath through his nose, something wet and warm trickling down to his mouth and chin.

He raises a hand to touch his nose, flinching at the flash or sharp pain caused by even such a subtle touch. His glove, when he looks at it, is red with blood. There is a dull, pulsing pain on the back of his head, probably from where he hurt it on his fall. The fucking bitch sucker punched him.

“Edelgard, stay,” orders the Professor, still standing over Hubert and glaring down at him “we have some things to discuss. Claude,” and at this she finally turns away to look at where Claude is sitting in the bed, gawking at Hubert with a slightly panicked look on his face “take Hubert with you, make sure he gets that nose looked at. I think it may be broken”

_ No shit _ Hubert viciously thinks, even as he lets Claude pull him to his feet and lead him out of the room. He keeps a hand over his nose to try and staunch the blood flow, the fine silk of his gloves quickly becoming soaked and sticky.

“No, no, no, keep your head down” Claude directs, when Hubert attempts to roll it back, hoping the blood will just stop flowing like a damn fountain “and breath through your mouth. That’s it, let’s just head over that bench over there...”

Hubert lets himself be led, not protesting when Claude pushes him to sit down at one of the benches outside the dorms overlooking the fishing pond, and hands him a handkerchief to dab at the blood.

“This better not be soaked in poison” Hubert mutters, holding the handkerchief to his face. His words come out slurred, nasal sounding. Ridiculous.

To Claude’s credit, he does not laugh, simply prods delicately at Hubert’s nose with his fingers “Well, this doesn’t look too bad. A Healing spell and you’ll be as good as new. Marianne’s room is not too far-”

“I’ll wait for Lady Edelgard” Hubert interrupts him. There is no way he is going to sleep without first knowing Edelgard is safe. 

Claude opens his mouth, ready to protest, but then seems to think better of it and just nods. Sitting himself next to Hubert, hands laced behind his head, and legs extended out, crossed at the ankles “I have to say, your loyalty is admirable” he says “There are not many people who would be willing to get punched in the face by Teach to protect someone else”

Hubert sighs. He did not exactly _ volunteer _ to get his nose smashed in, but he is definitely glad Professor Byleth chose to unleash her anger on him rather than Edelgard. Had she dared lay a hand on his Lady, negotiations would have definitely fallen through, and consequences would have been far more serious than just a broken nose.

“I saw the Flame Emperor up close in the Holy Mausoleum” Claude continues “even with the armour and that fancy plume on top of their head, they were shorter than me, and you, my dear friend, stand a good head taller”

Hubert does not bother denying it. To do so would be an insult to Claude’s intelligence as much as his own.

“The exact identity of the Flame Emperor is irrelevant,” he replies instead, doing his best to stare Claude down over the bunched up, bloody, handkerchief still attached to his face “in the grand scheme of things, it matters as little as your Almyran heritage”

If Claude is surprised at his knowledge, he does not show it, merely closing his eyes and inclining his head, conceding the point. 

“How long have you known?”

“Since you spiked Dimitri’s meal with Purple Bloodroot on the second week of the Harpstring Moon” The Faerghus prince had spent a whole evening puking his guts out in the dorms, but had been quick to blame it on food poisoning. Hubert knew better “Purple Bloodroot is very common in Almyra, but incredibly rare outside its borders, and no poison in Fódlan quite matches its effects. That, coupled with your vague past, your foreign appearance, and complete lack of manners made for an obvious conclusion”

“Have you told anyone?” Claude asks, a hint of hesitation entering his voice for the first time.

Hubert considers lying to him. Stringing him along for a bit to watch him suffer, but he is too tired, and his nose hurts too much to be engaging in any petty schemes “No” he answers instead “I don’t give a rat’s ass if your mother eloped with an Almyran shepherd and raised you in the middle of the fucking dessert”

Claude raises an eyebrow in response, but abstains from commenting.

Hubert shifts the handkerchief over his nose a little bit, mopping up a bit of blood that had escaped through the side “I don’t care” he repeats, with a pointed look at Claude “but that doesn’t mean others will think the same”

Claude hums to himself, gaze lost in the horizon, where the sun is starting to set over the battlements of Garreg Mach.

“All this prejudice is senseless” Claude says “My mother faced constant discrimination back home, even though she was married to an Almyran. I wonder if the same would happen in Fódlan, if a noble were to take an Almyran bride…”

“Don’t look at me, I’m already engaged” Hubert mutters.

It is not until the ensuing silence that he realises what words have actually come out of his mouth. He would punch himself if Professor Byleth had not already done a stellar job of it moments before. His nose hurts, there is a steady pounding in his head, whether from the punch or the consequent fall, and Hubert hates everything right now, but most of all, himself.

Claude is the one to break the silence.

(Because, of course, he is, the man would not shut up even if held underwater)

“So… I take it you are Ferdinand’s secret fiancée” There is no mistaking the teasing lilt on Claude’s voice.

Hubert groans, throwing his head back, then immediately flinching when that causes a sharp spike of pain to burst through his entire head. He feels, more than sees, Claude’s hand on the back of his head forcing him forward again.

“Does the entire monastery know about the fucking engagement?” he asks between clenched teeth once the pain has receded a bit.

“Hilda told me” Claude says, looking way too smug “Apparently Ferdinand told her, Dorothea and Lorenz over tea”

Great. That means that not only the whole monastery knows, but also Remire Village, half the Alliance, and the entire Mittlefrank company.

“You don’t look too happy about it” Claude oh, so cleverly, observes.

Hubert glares at him as best as he can with an inflated nose and a bloodied handkerchief held against his face.

Claude ignores him, because he is _ that _ obnoxious, and carries on “I mean, Ferdinand is quite comely, for a guy, and he has this whole honourable shtick going on as well, he’s honest to a fault. And very friendly. Like a puppy” Claude adds the last bit with a smile, as if Ferdinand being the human embodiment of a Labrador was something Hubert may appreciate in a partner.

“He’s a fop” he grunts out. 

Except, he is really not. And _ that _, makes him all the more infuriating. Hubert had been quite comfortable despising Ferdinand when he was nothing more than Duke Aegir’s whelp, a golden, rosy-cheeked and carefree little boy, ignorant of the rot and corruption of the world. Even now, it would be easy to dismiss him as an empty-headed, selfish, and over-enthusiastic fool, if Hubert did not know how insightful he can be when it comes to politics and their impact on the people around him, how he keeps a full tin of expensive coffee in his room, even though he hates the drink, just so Hubert can have something to drink during their meetings, and how his eagerness translates into hard work to achieve whatever goal he set his mind to.

Hubert misses his days of ignorance. It made things much less complicated.

“Not a love match, then?” Claude teases.

Hubert wants nothing more than to push him off the bench and down the stairs.

“No. It was arranged by our fathers” Duke Aegir wanted House Vestra’s influence over the next von Hresvelg Emperor, Marquis Vestra wanted the Duke’s riches and lands, it was a match made in Aristocratic Heaven “I barely managed to get them to postpone the wedding until Ferdinand comes of age, and to keep my identity secret for a while, to avoid Ferdinand throwing a tantrum once he discovers I’m not the delicate, noble, maiden he expected”

“Isn’t that delaying the inevitable?” Claude asks “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think one or two years difference is going to have much of an impact on your maidenly status”

Are all Almyrans so nosy? Hubert may need to reassess his view on the country for, if they are all as annoying as Claude, he has a newfound appreciation for Lord Holst and the good soldiers defending Fódlan’s Locket.

“If we had followed our original plan,” he explains through gritted teeth “neither my father, nor Duke Aegir, would have been able to enforce any marriages”

“Ah. That makes sense. And if our dear Ferdinand insisted on going through with the marriage, honourable knight that he is?”

“I would have found some vapid, adequately pretty girl to foist on him, and he would have been none the wiser”

Goddess knows there is no shortage of half-witted, social-climbing, debutantes in Enbarr who would have jumped at the chance to become Duchess Aegir.

“And now?” Claude prompts him, because he really, really, does not know when to shut up and was probably raised in a barn with no observance for unspoken social rules and etiquette.

Hubert shrugs. Duke Aegir will probably tell Ferdinand the truth once the year is over. Ferdinand will be appropriately shocked and resentful of Hubert for a while and, once his indignation passes, he will probably try his best at courting him, because that is what a ‘True Noble’ would do and Ferdinand is just ridiculous like that.

Hubert does not dread the thought of being courted by Ferdinand as much as he probably should.

“How about installing him as the Adrestian Ambassador to the Alliance?”

Claude’s question brings him out of his stupor, putting an end to idiotic daydreams of dates at the opera and garden strolls.

“That will keep him out of his father’s reach until the wedding happens, or you manage to depose Duke Aegir and annul the engagement. The position would be prestigious enough to appease the Duke”

As loathe as Hubert is to admit it, Claude’s proposal is a good solution. It also has the added benefit of helping them further their plans, with a trustworthy ambassador in Derdriu, to help assuage worries amongst Alliance nobles when the Empire’s reforms start.

“I’m not taking Lorenz as exchange” Hubert says. He shares Ferdinand’s worst personality traits and has none of the charm.

“I was thinking Ignatz, he always wanted to visit the Goddess Chapel frescoes in Enbarr…”

***

By the time Edelgard leaves Professor Byleth’s room, Hubert and Claude have designed the basis of a new Fódlanian Ambassador programme, and are getting started on potential political alliances.

Edelgard is quick to hurry Hubert to the upper dorms, all the while berating him for waiting outside instead of having his nose checked. Hubert takes her fussing without complaints, always comforted by having his Lady care about him, as unnecessary as her concern may be. After dropping her off in her room, and agreeing to meet the next day to discuss their next steps, he heads towards Linhardt’s room to get his nose checked. The handkerchief is now stiff with dried blood, and although his nose is not bleeding anymore it seems to have swollen to at least twice the size.

Linhardt’s door is locked. 

Hubert can hear muffled sounds coming from within, the rustle of blankets, and bare feet padding across wooden floors.

“Linhardt?” He asks, rapping his knuckles against the door.

The sounds stop. Hubert is about to knock again, this time with a bit more force, when a muffled snort, followed by a nigh hysteric giggle filters through the wood. Hubert recognises that giggle. He does not know what in the Goddess’ name Caspar is doing in Linhardt’s room at this hour, but he is quite sure he does not want to find out. He turns on his heels and heads towards Dorothea’s room. She may not be as skilled at healing as Linhardt, but she will have to do. There is no way he is risking blasting open that door and being faced with Caspar’s bare ass.

There is giggling coming from Dorothea’s room as well, but her door is half open, so Hubert assumes there are no acts of sexual nature going on behind it. He raps a quick, courtesy knock against the door before pushing it open.

Dorothea, Ingrid, Annette and Ferdinand are all sat on the bed in a tangle of wrinkled blankets and teenage limbs. Ingrid is in the middle, legs crossed, back ramrod straight and a look of resigned suffering in her face. Dorothea and Annette sit in front of her, surrounded by a colourful spread of makeup products, giggling together, as they paint a delicate blush on Ingrid’s cheeks. Ferdinand is at Ingrid’s back, braiding her hair into an elaborate up-do, tongue stuck out between his teeth as he concentrates on his work.

“Goddess, Hubert, what happened to you?” exclaims Ingrid as she spots him standing at the door.

He does not have time to answer before Dorothea and Annette spot him, bounce off the bed, and drag him into the room, prodding his swollen nose and making weird cooing noises at him all the while. Ferdinand hovers behind them, brows furrowed in concern and amber eyes wide with worry.

They sit him down on the bed, after brushing away the make up spread, and then Dorothea’s hands are on him once again, fingers prodding at the sides of his nose, before she draws a sigil into the air, runes flashing a pale yellow at her fingertips.

A flood of warmth envelopes him and, as it fades, the sharp pain in his nose diminishes until just a dull ache remains. Someone, probably Annette, dabs a wet water rag over his face, careful of the still sensitive areas, to clean away the flecks of dry blood.

“What happened?” demands Ferdinand, from behind Annette’s shoulder, restless over his complete inability to help.

“It was a training accident” Hubert lies “I tripped”

“Oh! It happens to me all the time!” exclaims Annette, undoubtedly glad to have found someone to share in her uncoordinated woes.

Ferdinand keeps looking at him, but it is not the harried fussing of a few moments ago. This is a more focused look, searching and analysing. Hubert has rarely seen it on Ferdinand before, it somehow fits him, makes him appear more mature than his still rounded face and huge eyes would suggest.

When Ferdinand lays a hand on his shoulder, warm, even through the layers of clothing, Hubert has to actively control himself in order not to flinch.

“If someone attacked you…” Ferdinand begins, sounding far too solemn for someone who had just been sitting in a bed playing makeover minutes ago “tell me their names and I’ll make sure they pay for their villainy” he declares, chest puffed out.

Hubert stares at him. Too dumbfounded to formulate an answer. He does not know if he should be offended that Ferdinand does not believe him capable of dealing with whoever injured him, or charmed by his chivalrous offer to defend his honour. In the face of doubt, he settles on the more familiar option and just snaps, voice derisive and mocking.

“What are you going to do? Challenge a sparring dummy to a knightly duel? Don’t be ridiculous”

Ferdinand looks as if he had been struck, brows furrowed in baffled confusion and eyes wide with hurt, an embarrassed flush blooming across his cheeks. He immediately looks away, bowing his head, shoulders dropping from their previously proud stance. Even his hair seems to deflate. 

Hubert is an ass.

“It was an accident” he repeats, and then, because the sight of Ferdinand looking so small and defeated leaves a bitter, sour, taste in his mouth, he adds “I appreciate your offer to defend my honour, though, Ferdinand”

Ferdinand visibly perks up, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth “I’ll walk you to your room”

“I can walk myself” Hubert may not want to see Ferdinand look sad and defeated, but he does not enjoy the prospect of being mollycoddled like a baby either.

“It’s almost next to mine” Ferdinand argues. He clearly won’t be dissuaded “It’s absolutely no trouble”

Hubert sighs “Fine” he agrees, if only to avoid the discussion dragging on, a pointless courtesy back and forth, while Dorothea watches the both of them like a hawk eyeing its next prey.

Ferdinand beams at him. He has a dimple on his right cheek. He is so disgustingly charming it is unfair.

The walk back to his room is unsurprisingly uneventful. Most students have retired for the night, and the upper dorms corridor is empty. Hubert makes a beeline for his room, Ferdinand trotting at his heels like an eager puppy. The idiot even waits for Hubert to open his door and (finally!) enter, before he scuttles back to his own room, an enthusiastic “Good Night, Hubert!” shouted even as Hubert closes the door in his face.

***

Professor Byleth manages to dispose of both Kronya and Solon and, somehow, ascend to some type of goodhood, all in one day. Hubert does not know what caused the change, or how her new semi-divine status will impact their plans, but he is certainly wary of the way the archbishop starts fawning over her, as if she were the second coming of Sothis herself.

His Lady is also nervous. He can tell, even if she insists on presenting a calm and collected facade. They have placed a lot of trust on the Professor, much more than any of them is truly comfortable with, and her transformation threatens to make their entire gamble worthless.

“Rhea wants Teach to go to the Holy Tomb” Claude explains as they all convene in the Monastery gardens “Apparently she hopes she will receive some kind of revelation from the Goddess”

“Should… should we do anything?” Dimitri asks, shoulders hunched, and voice hushed, in a ridiculous attempt to appear inconspicuous. He is truly terrible at subterfuge and, sadly, Dedue is not much better. Standing as still as a statue, arms crossed, and glaring daggers at any students who dare look in their general direction.

“The Golden Deer will be allowed to accompany her for protection” Claude says.

“A group of students will be a poor defence if anything really does go wrong” Hubert observes. The Golden Deer struggled to defeat Kronya and Solon, nearly lost the Professor on that fight, if Thales and his lackeys mount a true assault force…

“We will support you” declares Edelgard “The Black Eagles and the Blue Lions can stand watch outside the Tomb, anyone who wishes to go in will have to go through us”

“Well said, Edelgard!” Dimitri says, clapping her on the shoulder “We’ll defend the Professor from any intruders while she awaits her revelation from the Goddess”

“What if something goes wrong _ inside _?” Hubert asks, with a pointed look at his Lady. If the archbishop tries something, if she chooses to reveal her true form, they won’t be any help standing outside like idiots.

“Why would something happen on the inside?” asks Dimitri, brows furrowed in confusion. Hubert envies him his utter ignorance.

“We can have some sort of sign for if something goes wrong” Claude says.

They spend the afternoon planning, going through the different possible call signs (“I’ll bleat like a deer!” “Do deers bleat?” “If you bleat I’m leaving you to die”), the positioning of the two classes on the outside, and how to prepare their fellow students for the eventuality of an attack.

It is one, beautiful, long, afternoon Hubert will now never be able to get back. A complete, and utter waste of time. 

Nothing happens.

The Black Eagles sit outside the Holy Tomb for twelve hours, from sunset to well past breakfast the next day, freezing their collective asses off in the cold night and struggling to stave off boredom, stiff limbs, and sleep. Linhardt does fall asleep several times, cuddling up to Caspar who just blushes and giggles like an idiot as if the entire monastery did not know what the two of them get up to behind closed doors.

On the opposite side of the courtyard, the Blue Lions are not faring much better, if Sylvain and Felix’s constant bickering, broken only occasionally by Ingrid’s scolding and the sound of someone being slapped, is any indication. 

“My ass is going numb” complains Ferdinand, head lolling to the side to rest against the lance he has propped up against the wall.

“Shut up, Ferdinand” Hubert snaps. It has been hours since he has felt either his fingers or his toes, never mind his ass, and his coffee supply ran out before midnight.

The only good thing to come out of the entire debacle is the look of loss and frustration on the Archbishop’s face when she finally emerges from the Holy Tomb, an utterly bored and blank faced Professor in tow.

***

Edelgard and Hubert’s original plan to declare war on the Church was akin to an amputation, bloody and harsh, yet effective, even if it required the wounds to be cauterised by fire before healing could begin. A brutal, efficient way to remove the rot of the Church and Crests from Fódlan once and for all.

Their new approach is more like precision surgery. Each cell of corruption must be properly studied, all connecting threads analysed, before proceeding to its delicate excision. It is a slow, gruesome process, requiring Hubert and his Lady to walk a fine line at Court in order to push their reforms through. With no common enemy for the Empire to rally against, Adrestian nobles chose instead to spend their time and energy questioning their new Emperor’s every choice, squabbling amongst themselves, and being a general waste of air and space.

Hubert would happily dispose of the whole lot, but Thales and Those Who Slither in the Dark have been none too pleased with Edelgard’s new foreign policy, and further angering them would mean risking a war they are not ready for. They have too many secret agents, too many plants, in important positions, so that any frontal attack against them is doomed to fail, at least, until they can root out the infestation.

***

**Minister von Vestra’s correspondence. Letter from Ambassador von Aegir, 1181, Derdriu.**

_ Dear Hubert, _

_ Or should I call you Minister von Vestra? I must say I was not surprised by your promotion, I know how much Edelgard trusts and relies on you. The moment she ascended the throne, it was inevitable she would choose you as her right hand. Still, congratulations all the same! I have no doubt you will do a great job. _

_ It seems I also must thank you for my own appointment as Ambassador to the Alliance. Claude let it slip the other day that it was your suggestion. I’m honestly humbled and honoured by your trust. I promise to do all I can to be worthy of such an important position. _

_ Now that pleasantries are out of the way, I am actually writing to you to address Her Majesty’s upcoming proclamation. Please, understand my intention is not to question her choices, I am sure she will have solid reasons for acting as she does. My main concern is how such a proclaim will affect Imperial relationships with the Alliance. _

_ While religious sentiment is not as prevalent in the Alliance as in Faerghus, many Roundtable nobles still keep close ties with the Church, and most merchants rely on the protection of the Knight of Seiros when travelling. As I see it, the Alliance’s main concern with the Empire’s removal from the Church will be the safety of the main trade routes. If Her Majesty ensures merchant caravans will be well guarded, removing the need for mercenary guards, it will do much to maintain the Alliance’s good will. _

_ Below I outline a few proposals detailing how local militias can be used to improve roadway security [...] _

***

“I do have to admit, Hubert, Ferdinand is proving to be a much better Ambassador than I initially gave him credit for” 

A silent hum of agreement. Another document presented for the new Adrestian Emperor to sign.

“I feared your suggestion may have had to do more with private matters than with Ferdinand’s true capabilities” Edelgard continues, not pausing in her work “but relations with Leicester have never been better. Duke Gloucester has even agreed on our plan to finance the construction of a new bridge, to ease the current stress on Myrdin”

A throat clears.

“He has proved to be...” A brief pause. Silence broken only by the intermittent scratch of quill over paper “adequate”

“A ringing endorsement coming from you” Edelgard hands him back the signed stash of documents, a teasing smile playing on the edge of her lips “Do make sure to send him my regards when you next write to him, and to praise him for a job well done”

Hubert bows. “As Her Majesty commands”

“Duke Aegir is as rotten and vile as they come, but I yet have hopes for his son. Let’s keep him close, until we can assess for sure how far the corruption extends in that House”

***

**Minister von Vestra’s correspondence. Letter from Professor Eisner, 1181, Garreg Mach Monastery.**

_ Hi Hubert, _

<strike> _ I am God. _ </strike>

<strike> _ I am Sothis? _ </strike>

_ I’m confused. Seteth explained what Rhea did to me as a baby. She gave me the Goddess Crest stone, hoping Sothis would reincarnate herself in me. I’m not sure how this works. I thought people with embedded Crest Stones became Demonic Beasts… _

_ He only managed to get her to confess after Edelgard’s break up with the Church. She denies any knowledge of experiments done on Edelgard or Lysithea. I don’t know what to believe. _

_ Both of them still keep their mouths shut on the origin of the crests, but don’t seem entirely opposed to removing them? Their main concern about the relics is having a second Miklan. I vote for just destroying them altogether. _

_ Rhea won’t take any action against the Empire. Any students who still wish to attend the Academy will be welcome. _

_ I did ask about the Immaculate One, as Claude and yourself requested. Seteth said it was a Child of the Goddess, and refused to say more. _ <strike> _ Does that mean I will have dragon babies? _ </strike>

_ About the Slitherers... Seteth called them Agarthans, an ancient civilisation who defied the Goddess long ago. I attach some books on the subject, it’s not much, but they came from Seteth’s Private Collection. Treat them well or Seteth will have my head. _

_ Byleth _

_ *** _

**Minister von Vestra’s correspondence. Letter from King Dimitri of Faerghus 1181, Fhirdiad.**

_ Dear Minister von Vestra, _

_ I thank you for the list of suspected Slithering spies you sent us. We’ll do our best to be careful and keep them unaware of our plans. I must say I’m absolutely shocked at the amount of Faerghus officials who have become corrupted by the Slitherings. I’m truly grateful Edelgard reached out to us when she did. _

_ Speaking of Edelgard, I hope things go well with her new Crest Inheritance Law. Old Kingdom nobles are, sadly, not much in favour, but there is hope in the younger generations, I believe. My fellow classmates have all expressed their support of Edelgard’s policies. _

_ (Sylvain has expressed his desire to marry her. I think it is said in jest, but with him I can never be sure, so I thought it best to pass along the proposal, should Edelgard be interested in such a knucklehead) _

_ To answer your previous question - I’m not sure politics are Bernadetta’s true calling. But in any case, she has a bright future ahead as a writer. She sure has amassed a devoted following amongst the ladies in the Fhirdiad court, and more than one gentleman (Sylvain remains her number one fan, though) _

_ How is Ingrid? I hope she is adapting well, and trust you have no complaints about her. _

_ On the matter of the Church I, for one, I’m glad for Professor’s Byleth appointment as archbishop, and wish Lady Rhea a peaceful retirement [...] _

_ *** _

“The Agarthans” Edelgard says, trying out the name “It feels good to finally have a name for my tormentors”

Hubert nods. Personally, he is still partial to ‘Those Who Slither In The Dark’, but after a year of Claude, Dimitri and Byleth butchering his denomination, he does not mind so much the switch to the new name.

“The books Seteth sent through do shed some light into their origins. But I’m afraid there’s still too much we don’t know”

Like who exactly were the Nabatean people who perished in Zanado. Hubert has been unable to find any references to them in any of Enbarr’s libraries. The records, if they indeed exist, must be in Seteth’s Even More Private Collection, and that one not even Byleth seems to have access to.

(Hubert does not know how she got access to the Private Collection in the first place. Linhardt is their only other source of information in Garreg Mach, and he makes for a rather poor spy and an even worse gossip)

“Perhaps with the Professor as archbishop things will clear up” Edelgard says, a faint trace of hope filtering through her words. 

As always, Hubert finds her faith in the Professor a bit worrying. It still remains to be seen if she will really implement any real changes in the Church, or if she will become another Rhea, too enamoured with her own power and knowledge to share any of it with anyone.

***

**Minister von Vestra’s correspondence. Letter from Ambassador von Aegir, 1182, Derdriu.**

_ Dear Hubert, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. Thanks again for the tea package you sent through with your last letter, I don’t know what I would do without your monthly shipments. Adrestian blends are not easy to find in Derdriu, and with the recent increase of commerce with our Eastern neighbors, spiced teas have become all the rage. _

_ I attach a selection of Almyran coffee beans for you to enjoy. I’ve been assured Almyran coffee is of the most exquisite quality, I even had the merchant detail the exact preparation method they use as, according to them, Fódlaners are terrible at brewing a decent cup. _

_ The shawl is for Edelgard. Dagdan silk mixed with Almyran wool, good for all types of weather. The style is quite popular with Almyran ladies, and is quickly becoming the new fashion must-have in Leicester. _

_ As promised, I have negotiated with some chosen Almyran merchants to establish trade routes to the Empire. You can find the details below [...] _

_ On other news, I have decided to start breeding horses in what little free time I have. Lorenz has graciously loaned me one of his prized stallions, and I have acquired two beautiful Almyran mares. Goddess knows why the Almyrans are so fond of wyverns, when they have such glorious horses at their disposal! _

_ In their defence, Alym has proven to be quite knowledgeable, and has been invaluable in helping me set up the stables. He even promised to show me some Almyran riding skills once the mares have properly settled. _

_ And I nearly forgot! I did manage to have a look at Claude’s new Religion Law Proposal. It’s definitely not as bold as Edelgard’s but I believe it sets the base for more religious freedom and tolerance within the Alliance. Archbishop Byleth is set to visit Derdriu in a month to discuss it (Goddess, how weird is it to have the Professor as archbishop?) [...] _

_ *** _

**Minister von Vestra’s correspondence. Letter from Ambassador von Barley, 1182, Fhirdiad.**

_ Dear Hubert, _

_ You have heard correctly. Dimitri will present the Duscur Restoration Bill next moon. From what I’ve seen, most of the focus seems to be on territorial redistribution and economic compensation for the wars, but it definitely introduces Religious Freedom, not only for Duscur, but for the entirety of Faerghus. I have attached a copy of the bill, as well as some of the new inheritance laws [...] _

_ I didn’t know you were that interested in riding, but I cannot disagree with the advantages of learning to fight on horseback. I, for one, believe you would make a wonderful Dark Knight. You know, I’ve been training to become a Bow Knight myself, living in Fhirdiad I have my choice of riding tutors, Faerghus knights are well deserving of their reputation as skilled equestrians. _

_ I’m afraid I don’t know that much about Almyran horses. You probably should ask Ferdinand. He has hired this amazing Almyran trainer, Alym, who he says is a true horse-whisperer. He has been teaching him to ride Almyran style! Isn’t that great?[...] _

_ *** _

“Are you okay?” Ingrid’s concerned face peers down at Hubert as he lies down on back, trying to recover his breath, after getting knocked off his horse, once again, by her.

Hubert wheezes in response.

Ingrid’s little fanclub cheers and giggles in the background. 

The Faerghus Ambassador was a hit with Enbarr nobles from the moment she arrived at the capital. From the group of young, naïve debutantes who adopted her as their new role model, ditched their flouncy skirts for tailored britches, and took to walking around the city with a sword strapped to their side, to the fancy ladies who went through a confused sexuality crisis, before they embraced Ingrid as their new ideal knight in shining armour, and started some sort of sapphic cult around her person.

(Even Edelgard was momentarily seduced by Ingrid’s tomboyish charm. 

Hubert has never had cause to be disappointed in his Lady, but the time he caught her watching Ingrid spar with Caspar from behind the curtains in her study, instead of singing the new bills as she had promised, came pretty close.

“She’s a most skilled warrior” Edelgard defended herself, a blush staining her pale cheeks)

Despite her passionate following, Ingrid is surprisingly down-to-earth, and possessed of more common sense than Hubert had expected from someone who willingly spent time with both Sylvain and Felix on a regular basis. These qualities, along with Bernadetta’s endorsement of Faerghus knights’ equestrian skills, were what prompted him to request her help in training to become a Dark Knight.

“We can take a break if you want” Ingrid tells him as she helps him to his feet, brushing off dust and hay from his back, as she gives him a quick once over, checking for injuries “or we can switch you to a tamer mount, Scully may be a bit too much now that you’re still learning how to handle lances and getting used to the armour…”

The aforementioned beast turns her head to glare at Hubert, stamping its hoof on the ground, as if to underline Ingrid’s point. It seems to have taken Hubert’s lack of equestrian prowess as a personal affront to its own pedigree.

Hubert grits his teeth, stalking towards his temperamental mount, to hoist himself up on the saddle once again “I’m fine, a few bruises are nothing I can handle”

The worst damage so far, has been to his pride. Ferdinand had always made riding look so easy and effortless that Hubert had wrongly assumed earning his own dark spurs would be a matter of no time. So far, he has yet to manage to remain in the saddle for the entirety of a single training session.

“If you’re sure…” Ingrid hopes into her own saddle with enviable speed and grace, as her admirers sigh and swoon in the background.

Adjusting his grip on the training lance, Hubert nods, reading himself for the charge.

***

**Minister von Vestra’s correspondence. Letter from Ambassador von Aegir, 1182, Derdriu.**

_ Dear Hubert, _

_ Why didn’t you tell me you were training to become a Dark Knight? I would have loaned you one of my horses, poor things are sitting around in my Father’s state, I’m sure they would have appreciated the exercise. My dear Dandelion never showed any fear of spells in battle, not even after Lysithea knocked us down on the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, she would be a wonderful magehorse. _

_ But never mind, now, I can do you one better: one of my Almyran mares just gave birth to a foal. Black as a midnight sky. Alym suggested I train him as a magehorse and, since he has some experience with the technique, I may just give it a go. What do you think? I bet you would make quite a fetching pair. _

_ But, back to politics - Duke Riegan passed away two weeks ago. Claude was just elected this morning as the new leader of the Roundtable. He had been acting as de facto leader since his uncle fell ill last year, so I don’t expect much of a change in priorities. His focus still seems to be in strengthening relationships with Almyra and divorcing the Alliance from the Church. _

_ Speaking of the Church, Lorenz was visiting Garreg Mach last week, and he came back with some interesting gossip regarding our new archbishop and her loyal assistant [...] _

_ *** _

**Minister von Vestra’s correspondence. Letter from Archbishop Eisner, 1182, Garreg Mach Monastery.**

_ Hi Hubert, _

_ Not that it’s any of your business but, yes, I’m sleeping with Seteth. I fail to see how that has any impact whatsoever in our plans. I’ve already told you (repeatedly) how Seteth was not involved in Rhea’s experiments to bring back the Goddess, and frankly, I don’t understand why you are so hung up on the fact that he is Nabatean. He has pointy ears, so what? I happen to like pointy ears. _

_ Yes, he’s kept information about the Nabateans secret. You can’t exactly blame him for that after what we learned about the origins of the relics. And it’s not like you’ve never kept any secrets yourself, Flame Emperor. _

_ Still, you’re more than welcome to visit the Monastery whenever you want. Seteth will happily loan you any books you request on Nabateans, Agarthans, Dark magic or whatever obscure subject strikes your fancy for that Moon. _

_ May I also suggest getting yourself a, what did you call it? Oh, yes, an “animated sex toy”, I’m sure it would do wonders for your disposition. _

_ [...] _

_ *** _

“You can’t seriously approve of this relationship!”

Edelgard closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose “It’s not my place to ‘approve’ of it, Hubert”

“Seteth was working with Rhea for years!” he insists. He does not understand why everyone is so ready to believe his claims of having had nothing to do with the implementation of the Crest System and Rhea’s attempts to revive Sothis “Even if what he told us about the relics and the origin of the crests is true, and that’s one big ‘if’, who’s to say he won’t turn on us after the Agarthans are dealt with?”

“Flayn is coming to Enbarr”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Seteth wrote to me, asking us to look after her during her stay” Edelgard says, sliding a letter across the table towards Hubert. 

He picks up the letter, skimming through Seteth’s scrupulously neat writing and empty platitudes, before raising his eyes towards his lady once again.

“So, Flayn is our hostage now?”

“Guest, Hubert, she’s our guest” Edelgard sighs, hands clasped in front of her, as she leans forward over the desk “Look, I’m not especially keen on the Professor’s new… partner, either, but it’s not like we have never had questionable allies before. Maybe Seteth and Flayn supported the system that killed my siblings and tortured me, but at least they didn’t hold the scalpel”

She closes her eyes, brows furrowed briefly, as the pain of old memories seems to almost overcome her for a moment. 

She opens them again, pale lavender clear and free of doubts.

“If I can work with that, so will you”

***

**Minister von Vestra’s correspondence. Letter from Duke von Riegan, 1182, Derdriu.**

_ Dear Hubert, _

_ The inner workings of your mind, my dear friend, must truly be a wonder to behold. However you managed to arrive at the conclusion that poor Ferdie is planning to elope with his stable hand I don’t even want to know, but to insinuate that said imaginary eloping is somewhat my doing… Wow. I’m at a loss for words. Bereft. Shocked and bewildered. _

_ Let me put your mind at ease, lest you and your dear Emperor decide to dust off your old invasion plans and undo all our collective hard work over such a minute misunderstanding. _

_ Alym is a 56-year old, happily married, father of three. He has no designs whatsoever upon Ferdinand’s virtue. He is just an honest man trying to do his job as best as he can and earn some money for his family. Please, I beg you to recall any assassins you may have sent after him. _

_ Moving on to other business - we need to decide on a successor for Ferdie. Last I spoke with him, the engagement is still very much in place and he even seems to have made peace with it. Said he was looking forward to meeting the sweet, delicate, maiden he has been betrothed to. That would be you. _ <strike> _ Man, I wish I could be at the wedding. _ </strike>

_ I was thinking Ladislava may be a good option. I don’t think you could fault her loyalty, and she seems to be moderately more intelligent than, say, Caspar [...] _

_ *** _

**Minister von Vestra’s correspondence. Letter from Ambassador von Aegir, 1182, Derdriu.**

_ Dear Hubert, _

_ Thanks for your offer to help me call of the engagement. I have not forgotten your favour owed, I simply do not wish to spend it on that. This is in no case a slight against your _ _ <strike>assassination</strike> _ _ political skills, I have no doubt you are highly capable of _ <strike> _ eliminating my fiancée _ </strike> _ ending the betrothal. _

_ Still, that would greatly anger my Father and I have no doubt he would have another engagement arranged and signed within a moon. One political marriage is as good as the next, and as a noble, I’ve always known marrying for love was not in the cards for me. _

_ I will endeavour to make the best of my marriage. It may not be a grand romance worthy of an opera, as I dreamed when I was a little boy, but then again, those ended in tragedy more often than not, so I’ll happily settle for a comfortable, amicable relationship. _

_ [...] _

*** 

“What are you doing here?” Hubert hisses, letting a spark of magic crackle along his fingers, dark and poisonous, burning through his veins, as he readies a spell.

Thales smirks at him from the centre of his study. White eyes as unsettling as ever.

“Why, I’ve merely come to offer my condolences for the passing of your father, a most unfortunate death, I must say”

Hubert says nothing. He forces himself to stare back at Thales, at those dead, pale eyes that look at nothing and everything at the same time. He holds the spell, fingers cramping with effort as dark magic twists and slithers under his skin.

“So sudden as well. Who would have expected it, such a healthy man to fall so tragically ill in such a short time. A true tragedy”

“A tragedy, indeed” One that, if Hubert had had his way, would have happened years ago.

“He was a great man.” Thales continues, pacing around the room, paying no attention to the spell sizzling in Hubert’s hand “A great ally and a true servant to the Empire”

“He was a coward” Hubert spits out. A snivelling, greedy coward, loyal to no interests but his own, and way too powerful, even after being removed as Minister of the Imperial Household, to be allowed to live much longer. He had been a dead man walking since he allowed Edelgard to be taken away as a child.

“Now, now, Hubert, let’s not speak ill of the dead” Thales admonishes him, mockery evident in his tone.

“What do you want” he snaps. His hand burns with the effort of keeping his magic contained, his plain, crestless blood not fit to manipulate this kind of power.

“Tsk, tsk, manners, boy” 

A simple snap of pale fingers and the magic in Hubert’s hand bursts, dark waves rippling up his arm, scorching his skin up to his shoulder, the spell gone and wasted.

He grits his teeth, refusing to cry out in pain, even as blood drips down his arm and into the floor, and the acrid smell of burnt flesh and cloth fills the room, underlined by the characteristic sulphuric residue left by dark magic.

“Do not forget who taught you to harness dark magic, boy,” Thales says, the whispers of a Miasma spell swirling in his hand “who helped a poor, crestless, brat like you to wield a power reserved only to a chosen few”

Hubert glares back at him, refusing to cower down, to show any sign of weakness, even as his hand throbs in pain and the smell of burnt flesh clogs his nose. 

(Thales’ offer came after Edelgard returned from the North, hair white and stare vacant, and Hubert realised the true extent of his failure in protecting her. Dark Magic is not meant to be used without a Crest to absorb its corruption, to filter the power before it can harm the caster, but Hubert never cared about the consequences if it meant obtaining the means to be of better use to his Lady. He accepted Thales’ mentorship without hesitation, let darkness itself etch into his skin, a map of bruises and scars too numerous to count, all to become a better weapon to be used by Lady Edelgard)

“Was there any purpose to your visit other than lamenting my father’s passing?”

Thales nods, pale, spidery hands retreating back within the folds of his cloak, the Miasma spell vanishing into thin air.

“Is that not reason enough? The late Marquis did so much for us, I would truly hate to see his legacy destroyed, his wishes unfulfilled”

“How thoughtful of you”

“Do not test me again, Marquis Vestra,” Thales warns him “and do not play dumb, it does not suit you. Keep the engagement to the Aegir heir. Your father’s death changes nothing, as far as we are concerned. There have been enough allowances made for your Emperor’s sake, enough delays and deviations to our plans, on this, we will not be denied”

The ‘or else’ is not said, but made implicit all the same. A threat left hanging over the room.

“As you wish” Hubert hisses through clenched teeth.

“Good, good. Much better” Thales nods to himself, clearly pleased. He smiles at Hubert, crooked yellow teeth peeking out between thin, pale lips “And remember, boy, those that have been made, can be unmade”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's how you fast-forward two years and a half of plot in one chapter. Next update: The Wedding™
> 
> Some comments on this chapter:  
\- The Seteth/Byleth: Look, without a time-skip Byleth is less likely to get with one of her ex-students, and prospects do not abound in Garreg Mach (I mean, Shamir and Catherine are hot, but they're also basically married to each other). I considered leaving her single, but I ended up letting her bang the Hot Single Dad. Don't worry, relationship will be background and barely mentioned after this chapter.  
\- I don't know who at IntSys refused to let Ingrid be a lesbian, but they were wrong. Let her be gay, dammit!  
\- Hubert & Thales: Hubert is the only Dark Magic user without a Crest. I can totally see him learning and using something severely detrimental to his own health only to be of better use to Edelgard (also, given his Str is shit, and Faith is one of his weaknesses, Reason is pretty much the only career path available to him)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments are always much appreciated.
> 
> 1 Quote is from the "Wolf Hall" BBC series.


	3. A Wedding To (Not) Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! After two chapters of build up, we get to The Wedding. This chapter we take a break from Fódlan politics and instead bear witness to the most disastrous wedding in Adrestian history (well, not quite, but probably pretty close). 
> 
> Just a note of warning: a character gets roaring drunk in this chapter. This is pretty much a one-off occasion, so don't worry, there won't be any serious alcoholism in the story, but just in case this squicks you, be warned.

Much to his chagrin, Ferdinand is almost late to his own wedding as the journey from Derdriu to Enbarr takes longer than planned. The early Spring rains have done a number on the main roads, leaving them a muddy mess, unsafe for both horses, and people, to travel through. Seeing as Ferdinand is travelling with two years worth of clothes, souvenirs and furniture from his stay in Derdriu, progress is slow.

The floods along the Airmid river cause even more delays. The Great Bridge of Myrddin is inaccessible when they get there, the water having cracked one of the main stone pillars, and Ferdinand is forced to backtrack all the way back to Gloucester territory, to wait for the repairs, because Lorenz point blank refuses to request lodging with Lord Acheron.

They make it to Enbarr with just a day to spare, weary from weeks on the road and with mud covering every single one of their possessions, up to, and including, their own selves. 

It speaks to how tired Ferdinand is that he barely pays attention to his Father screeching about his lack of punctuality, his overgrown hair, or his dishevelled appearance. He left a prestigious promising position as Imperial Ambassador, and crossed the entire continent, to marry for his Father’s political benefit, rather than his own. As far as Ferdinand is concerned, if anyone has any right to complain and scream about the current state of affairs, it is him.

Of course, he does not voice any of this out loud. He merely nods his head, and heads to his old bedroom, intent on getting some rest before he is swept up in dress fittings and last minute wedding preparations.

***

The day of the wedding he is a ball of nerves. He has known for years that day was coming, and yet he still feels as unprepared for it as when his Father first informed him about the engagement. It is daunting to know that at the end of the day he will be a married man. 

The room he finds himself in now, all immaculate white and pastel pink, is in no way helping with the nerves situation, and neither are Lorenz and Dorothea, fidgeting awkwardly by the door, and having a non too discreet conversation of raised eyebrows and head nods.

“Ferdie,” Dorothea finally starts, smoothing the skirt of her beautiful burgundy gown “about the ‘bride’-”

“No, don’t tell me anything!” He quickly interrupts her “I’ve waited over three years, I may as well wait a few hours more and have the reveal be on the ceremony itself, where we will gaze into each other’s eyes for the first time as I lift her veil and reveal her beautiful face”

“But-”

“Ferdinand, I really think-”

“Not a word!” He exclaims, and then, upon seeing Lorenz’s constipated expression, and Dorothea’s anxious fretting, he adds “I mean… she isn’t malformed or anything is she? Not that I would care, of course, but… no physical deformities I should be warned about?”

“Well…” Lorenz starts, but Dorothea promptly elbows him on the side and shuts him up.

“No” Dorothea states “No physical deformities at all”

Lorenz looks like he would very much like to dispute that assessment, but he keeps his mouth shut at Dorothea’s stern glare.

Ferdinand lets out a stuttering nervous sigh. He loves them both very, very much, but they are really doing a piss poor job as his entourage at keeping him calm and easing his worries. Goddess, it may be incredibly vain and superficial of him, but he dearly hopes his bride is pleasant to look at.

***

Ferdinand spent years imagining what his wedding would be like. Fantasising about the moment he would lift his bride’s veil to gaze for the first time upon her face. As such, it is a grand disappointment that, not only is his actual wedding unlike anything he had ever imagined, but that he barely recalls most of it afterwards.

He remembers entering the Ceremonial Hall, remembers seeing the pews bursting with the cream of the crop of Adrestian nobility, the golden double-headed eagle banners hanging from the ceiling, and the blood red carnations and roses cascading in elaborate garlands from the walls. He remembers the red carpet covering the main aisle, extending before him towards the altar. Remembers seeing Edelgard standing at the end of it, dressed in her full Emperor regalia, her dress the deepest red in the room, and her golden crown shining like a halo from the glow of the surrounding candles.

As impressive a sight as she is, Edelgard’s presence was expected. After all, who was fit to officiate the wedding of the heir of the powerful and influential House Aegir, but the Emperor herself? Still, Ferdinand remembers feeling honoured at her presence, flattered. He remembers answering her hesitant smile with a wider one of his own. 

He remembers spotting Hubert standing at her side, looking like he had spent the entirety of the past two years sucking on lemons, and not even questioning it, because Hubert has never not been standing at Edelgard’s side. He even remembers thinking how flattering Hubert’s new haircut was, how it accentuated the fine line of his jaw and made his sharp cheekbones stand out even more, even if his general expression looked like that of someone having their toenails pulled out with pliers.

It was not until the first notes of the wedding march started playing, and everyone rose from their seats and turned to stare at him, that the pin finally dropped.

The rest of the ceremony is nothing but a blur.

He must have walked to the altar, even though he has no actual memories of doing so. The next thing he remembers is standing before Edelgard as she looked at him in concern. She asked him something, but he barely heard, his head filled with nothing but static. He probably answered. He thinks he did. Maybe.

He does not know how long the ceremony lasted, as he spent most of it looking at the floor. They must have exchanged rings at some point, if the simple, golden band now adorning his hand now is any indication, but Ferdinand has no memory of it. There was a kiss, too. Dry, chapped lips lightly brushing his own, so stiff and formal he may as well have been kissing a statue.

***

“Ferdinand?”

Lorenz’s voice breaks through his hazy recollections, and Ferdinand hiccups in surprise.

He is sitting in a small dressing room, his jacket discarded over the back of a plush white chair, as Ferdinand himself sits on the floor, legs spread out before him, and back slumped against the wall. His cheeks are wet. He must have been crying.

“Ferdinand?” Lorenz says again, voice muffled by the door and filled with concern. 

Ferdinand sniffs loudly, trying to control his breathing. His hair sticks in damp curls to his cheeks and forehead, and he can feel snot running down his nose and over his chin. He probably looks a right mess.

“Ferdie, we are coming in” announces Dorothea, in a tone that leaves no room for discussion and, before Ferdinand has time to react, or to even try and make himself look somewhat decent, both her and Lorenz burst into the room.

“Oh, Ferdie…” Dorothea whispers as she takes in his pitiful state, the rumpled clothes and messy hair, and the tear tracks staining reddened cheeks.

Ferdinand sniffles, trying to contain the fresh burst of tears that threaten to spill out, burning in his eyes “Why didn’t he tell me?” he mutters. His voice comes out wet, broken up by hiccups and sniffs, cracking at the end in a most pathetic note.

Dorothea crouches before him, the trail of her silk dress dragging over the tiles, as Lorenz comes to sit at his side, pulling an arm around his shaking shoulders and drawing him close on a side hug. 

“We should have told you when we found out” Lorenz declares.

“And let me have a breakdown just before I was due to walk down the aisle?” Ferdinand snorts “Goddess, imagine what a disaster that would have been” He probably would have either attempted a runner or punched Hubert in his crooked nose in front of the entire Imperial Court.

“You did beautifully, honey” Dorothea assures him as she rubs comforting circles into his back “Held on through the entire ceremony. Had it been me I don’t think I would have been half as composed”

“Liar” Ferdinand says, feeling a small smile pull at the edge of his lips at the praise “I saw you power through an entire performance of King Loog even after your co-star stumbled into stage completely drunk”

“Well, yes,” admits Dorothea, blushing slightly “but I would still have kicked Hubie in the shins when no one was looking. Or something”

Ferdinand snorts, he can easily picture the scene in his mind. A shame he did not think to do some kicking himself, it would have served Hubert just right for keeping him in the dark.

“There’s still plenty of time for kicking” Lorenz says “We have a whole banquet to get through. I’d be more than happy to give him a good kick in the privates, if you wish so, Ferdinand. See how he likes that”

Dorothea giggles, and Ferdinand lets himself laugh along with her, finding his spirits slowly come back now that his friends are at his side and he does not have the eyes of the entire Court bearing testimony to his very public humiliation.

“Oh, Lorenz, that would be a sight to see!” Dorothea says “But I’m afraid it may put a bit of a dampen on the wedding night”

“That’s the whole point of it” replies Lorenz airily, but Ferdinand barely hears him, as his mind screeches to a halt at Dorothea’s words.

Oh, Goddess. The wedding night. 

In all his anguish at being betrayed and lied to by Hubert for years, he has not even had time to dwell too much on the fact that they are now married and consider all that this implies. He had prepared himself to bed a young maiden, had been ready to discover the secrets of the flesh alongside his future wife, a slow, careful exploration, not too forceful, as to not scare her. He has not prepared to sleep with Hubert. Will he have to sleep with Hubert?

“I never thought about sleeping with Hubert” he whimpers, sounding incredibly pathetic even to his own ears.

Dorothea raises an eyebrow at that and, ok, maybe he _ has _ thought about sleeping with Hubert, but it was all done in the abstract. Idle, harmless fantasies that were never meant to come true. He has also fantasised about Claude, or Felix, or Dorothea herself, and never acted on any of it. He had been foolishly saving himself for marriage and, although he never strayed in deed, he could not be blamed if his thoughts and dreams sometimes wandered a little bit. There is still quite a stretch from a passing fantasy, indulged in as a teenage boy brimming with hormones, to a reality due to happen in a few hours time.

“Please kill me” he groans, covering his eyes with his hands and slumping against Lorenz.

“Shhhh, none of that” Dorothea hushes him, lightly petting his hair and does her best to comb back the messy, tear-wet strands from his face “Think, you’re married now, it’s not the worst thing ever to be slightly attracted to you own husband”

His husband. Goddess gracious. Ferdinand is not even sure if can can consider Hubert a friend anymore, let alone a spouse.

“I hate him” He mutters into Lorenz’s collar “I don’t want to be attracted to him”

He has not been attracted to him in years. Since those last months in Garreg Mach when their usual bickering had almost settled into easy banter and a tentative camaraderie. 

(There had been a flash of longing, not even an hour ago, when he had spotted Hubert standing next to Edelgard, tall and imposing in his dark suit, with cheekbones fit to cut diamond and pale eyes glowing golden under the candlelight, but that small flicker of lust had been quickly smothered out when realisation dawned. So he does not feel the need to mention it.)

“You’re understandably angry at him,” Dorothea continues, undeterred “and you’re right to be! But, honey, this is happening. Unless you want to run away-”

“Say the word and I’ll have the horses ready” Lorenz interrupts her, planting a reassuring kiss at the top of Ferdinand’s head.

“Not helping, Lorenz!” hisses Dorothea. She sighs, and promptly resumes carding her hands through Ferdinand’s messy locks “Unless you run away, you’re going to have to find a way to make this work. You liked Hubert- Shut up, Lorenz. Ferdie, you liked him, maybe not as husband material, but you were at least on friendly terms with the man until a few hours ago”

“It was all a sham!” Ferdinand wails. Dorothea is being very reasonable and sensible about the whole thing, and while she is making very solid arguments, Ferdinand simply does not want to be reasonable and sensible right now. He wants to kick, and scream and punch someone in the face.

(Hubert, he wants to punch Hubert)

“Maybe. Maybe not. I guess you’ll have to talk with Hubert to find out, either case, will you not?”

He sniffs. He is getting snot and tears all over Lorenz’s new brocaded jacket.

“... I guess” He relents, even though talking with Hubert is about the last thing he wants to do now. Perhaps he could write him a letter. Epistolary communication does seem to work best for the two of them.

“And if after you get the chance to talk things out with him you still want to run away,” Dorothea continues “I’ll help you saddle the horses myself”

Ferdinand laughs, a little, awkward broken laugh, but a laugh all the same.

“Thanks, Dorothea”

“I want you to know, that whether you run away or not, my offer to kick the creepy bastard where it hurts the most still stands”

“Thanks, Lorenz”

“Well then, up you go” Lorenz says, raising to his feet and hooking his hands under Ferdinand’s armpits to hoist him up as well “You still have a banquet to attend. Here, have a sip,” he adds, handing Ferdinand a small metal flask “it will calm your nerves”

Ferdinand does not even give the flask a second glance before he chugs down the entirety of its contents, the sharp burn of alcohol helping ground him in the present once more.

***

The banquet seems to drag on forever. On any other occasion, Ferdinand would have been delighted by the dazzling array of dishes paraded under his nose, the delicate china and exquisite silverware. He would have enjoyed having the place of honour at the main table, being the centre of attention for a celebration as grand as this, even with the Emperor herself in attendance. Today, the only thing that seems to bring him any joy is his ever re-filling glass of wine.

After a half assed attempt at apologising, that Ferdinand could not even be bothered to listen to, Hubert has spent most of the banquet ignoring his very existence, choosing instead to focus all his attention on Edelgard. Because of course he chooses her over him even on the day of their own wedding. Ferdinand should actually be grateful the ring actually ended up on his hand, instead of the Emperor’s.

Edelgard, for her own part, keeps looking alternatively at Hubert and himself, her eyes so full of pity one would think she was attending their funeral, rather than their wedding. Well, let her feel bad, Ferdinand viciously thinks, he is sure she knew about the engagement for as long Hubert did, and even if her betrayal does not sting as much as his, she is still on his shit list.

“You may consider easing up on the wine” Hubert whispers to him as Ferdinand loads his seventh (eighth?) glass.

“You may consider shutting the fuck up, darling” Ferdinand replies, a bit louder than intended, going by the heads that suddenly turn in their direction and Edelgard’s surprised gasp. Oh, well.

“Ferdie…” Hubert starts, doubtlessly attempting another start at a half-assed apology.

Ferdinand cuts him off before he can start “Only Dorothea can call me Ferdie” A pause, as he sips his wine “Sweetheart” he adds, looking at Hubert over the rim of his glass.

Hubert’s cheeks colour in anger, blotchy red marks upon his otherwise pale complexion. Ferdinand smiles to himself, it is good to know that despite his stupid fancy haircut, and offensively good-looking cheekbones Hubert still colours like a fair maiden on her first Ball.

(His own face is probably red enough to match Edelgard’s dress, due to the heat of the room and the alcohol, but Ferdinand could honestly care less about what he looks like right now)

“Ferdinand” Hubert tries again.

“Hubert” He replies, resting his chin in his hand and leaning in, swaying a bit with the buzz of alcohol “Hubie. Hubie-poo. Dearly beloved”

Hubert glowers at him, a muscle tickling intermittently in his jaw, even as the top of his ears turn a most endearing shade of pink.

“What, you don’t like it?” Ferdinand prods, savouring Hubert’s frustration like a fine aged wine “I was just trying to find a suitable endearment. Now that we’re married and all. My love. My sweetie pie”

“Ferdinand” Hubert not so much says, as growls, the words dragging low and dangerous from within the base of his throat. Ferdinand has seen grown men cower at that tone, hardened warriors tremble in fear at the implied threat. 

He just ignores it. Choosing to blabber on instead “I’ve always been partial to ‘honey’, if you must know, because I’m so sweet”

Hubert’s responding withering glare could probably strip paint off the walls. There is a minute twitch of a muscle under one of his eyes and Ferdinand can practically hear his teeth grinding together. On Hubert’s other side, Edelgard lets out a very un-lady like snort, which she quickly disguises as a sudden cough.

Ferdinand smirks, batting his eyelashes at Hubert in a most exaggerated fashion.

Hubert closes his eyes, breathes loudly through his nose, and then proceeds to lean in as well, until the tip of his nose almost touches Ferdinand’s. Up close his eyes seem to reflect the light like Almyran coloured glass.

“Ferdinand, _ honey _,” He says, voice going from a threatening growl to a deceptively soft baritone, smooth as silk and sharper than a Wo Dao sword, as he reaches one arm across the table to grab Ferdinand’s glass “I think you’ve had enough to drink”

Snake-fast, despite his reflexes being somewhat dulled from alcohol, Ferdinand shoots out his own hand and grasps Hubert’s wrist before he can take away the glass.

“Oh, you think?” It is now Ferdinand’s turn to growl, as he digs his fingers into Hubert’s delicate wrists, feeling the bones and tendons grind together under his grip. To his credit, Hubert barely flinches, his green-gold gaze holding steady against Ferdinand’s own. 

A few beats pass, and Hubert slowly releases his hold on the glass, wrist going limp and pliant in Ferdinand’s grasp. Ferdinand releases him, leaning back in his chair as he reaches for his glass again, and gives the wine inside a fancy little swirl before downing the entire thing in one go.

He turns to Hubert and smiles, cheeks burning and eyes heavy lidded from the alcohol.

“Sadly, _ darling _,” He drawls “I don’t care what you think. And trust me, I haven’t had nearly enough to drink just yet”

It will take him at least five more cups to gather the courage to face the wedding night.

“I know you’re upset” Hubert says.

“Understatement of the year”

“But I can explain-”

“You had three years to explain!” Ferdinand finally explodes. The wine spills across the table as he gestures to point an accusing finger at Hubert “Three years, and the only thing you did was lie to my face. And to my letters”

Hubert glares at the accusing finger pointed straight at his face, but otherwise makes no move to deny or rebate Ferdinand’s accusations. 

“If you think this whole _ thing _ was my idea-” Hubert starts, absently gesturing with his hand to encompass the totality of the room, mouth twisted in a derisive sneer.

“I don’t care whose idea it was,” Ferdinand hisses, thrusting his finger into Hubert’s chest “yours, my Father’s, or Edelgard’s” he emphasises each name with another thrust against Hubert’s chest “You _ should _have told me”

Hubert has the gall to look offended at that, grabbing at Ferdinand’s hand to stop the repeated poking and opening his mouth to protest, but before he has any chance to let any words out, he is interrupted by a loud cheer from the back of the room.

“Kiss! Let them kiss!” shouts some drunken noble, too far back for Ferdinand to recognise.

The entire room erupts into excited cheers.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Ferdinand feels sick. He snatches his hand out of Hubert’s grasp and blindly reaches for his drink, hoping the wine will help silence the obnoxious shouting or, at least, stop him from caring. Before he has the chance to grab a hold of his cup, a gloved hand comes to rest on his cheek and turns his head to the side, the leather unnaturally cold against his overheated, flushed skin.

Hubert’s kiss is like a punch, vicious and painful, blunt, with no art or seduction to it. Still lips pressing with too much force against Ferdinand’s own, the hand on his cheek an unyielding claw. It takes a tremendous effort for Ferdinand to fight against his instincts and avoid upending his entire cup of wine over Hubert’s head.

The cheers in the background are deafening.

When Hubert pulls away, leaving Ferdinand to slump back against his chair, lips bruised and cheeks aflame, he does so without looking Ferdinand in the face, eyes downcast and half-hidden beneath his dark fringe. The hand in his cheek also withdraws, fingered gloves leaving a cold, smooth trail around the line of his jaw, before they completely fall away. Without another word, Hubert turns away, facing towards Edelgard, and leaving Ferdinand to re-fill his cup with trembling hands. 

The burning of the wine, as he gulps it down, does not completely erase the taste of Hubert’s lips. His head is spinning, and the room seems to blur in the background, the candles overly bright, and the music overly loud. He takes another sip. Rests his head back against the chair, closes his eyes. His heartbeat resonates between his ears, loud enough to drown out the cacophony of the room, for one, short blissful moment.

Father is quick to put an end to it, his shrill, annoying voice cutting through the fog, and bringing Ferdinand crashing back to reality.

“And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, Your Majesty” he adds nodding towards Edelgard, with his most smarmy smile firmly placed upon his face “It’s time for the first dance!”

Goddess Gracious.

It takes Ferdinand a few tries to be able to stand up, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated, head swimming the moment he raises from his seat. It is only thanks to Hubert’s help that he does not end up face-planting into the ground, as he catches him by the waist, holding him upright, even as his balance tetters on the edge.

Hubert half drags, half carries him towards the dancefloor. Ferdinand’s head lolling to the side, to rest against a black-clad shoulder, as the room spins, and spins, before his eyes.

“Do you think you are capable of completing the waltz without throwing up?” Hubert whispers in his ear, as he clumsily attempts to maneuver Ferdinand into a proper dancing position.

Ferdinand raises his head. His vision blurs for a second, and he needs to blink to refocus. 

“I can dance” he says, words coming out slurred and jumbled.

It is a bold faced lie, of course, seeing as he can barely stand still without tilting to the side like a puppet with cut strings, yet Hubert does not call him out on it. Instead, the arm around his waist draws him closer, until there is not even a sliver of space left between the two of them. Ferdinand leans forward, resting his head on Hubert’s shoulder, and closes his eyes. 

When the music starts, he lets himself be led, his feet clumsily following the steps, shoes dragging on the tiled floor with none of his usual grace. He can feel the muscles on Hubert’s shoulder shift and move where he rests his cheek, can even sense the pulse on his neck, from where his own nose is pressed against it. It is the closest he has ever danced with anyone, and if his mind were not dulled by alcohol he would probably feel incredibly self conscious and embarrassed about it. As it is, he mindlessly sways along to the music, eyes closed and mind drifting back to another dance years ago, to golden green eyes and easier times.

(That dance was probably a lie as well, and Ferdinand hates Hubert for taking even his precious memories away from him)

The waltz finally draws to a close, and Ferdinand wastes no time in detangling himself from his husband’s arms and making a beeline for the drinks’ table, ignoring Father’s reproachful stare and Edelgard’s concerned frown. 

The party carries on while he loses himself in a glass of Albinean liquor. Hubert dances with Edelgard (of course, what else did Ferdinand expect?), before he retreats to the sidelines, surrounded by a cohort of Adrestian nobles and diplomats, eager to schmooze with the Minister of the Imperial Household. Lorenz and Dorothea, bless their souls, come to sit at Ferdinand’s side in companionable silence, and thankfully keep any comments on his drinking to themselves.

There is still plenty of people left to occupy the dancefloor. Edelgard dances with one partner after the other, not even stopping to rest her feet for a while, from young knights and nobles, to foreign diplomats and rich merchants, ever the dutiful Emperor. Ingrid also never seems to want for a partner, despite possessing two left feet and no sense of rhythm whatsoever. Even Linhardt graces the dancefloor one or two times, hand in hand with a bashful, yet proud, Caspar.

The music is good, and most of the guests seem to be having a merry good time. It really is a shame Ferdinand is feeling so miserable, otherwise, he guesses, the wedding would be quite nice.

***

Adrestian tradition mandates both the bride and groom (or the two grooms, as that may be the case) are separately escorted, by their respective wedding parties, to the bedroom where consummation will take place. Such processions are usually full of cheer, joy and dirty jokes, as friends and family volunteer their best tips and counsel for a successful marriage bed on the way.

There are no jokes as Ferdinand makes his way to the honeymoon suite that has been arranged for the occasion. Lorenz and Dorothea walk silently at his side, faces grave and offering a helping hand whenever he stumbles or sways in place. A few of his cousins follow quietly after them, more out of tradition than any true familial affection. Father walks at the back, a pretty, young and brainless thing hanging off his arm, giggling loudly at his lewd jokes. It is a sad, pathetic, affair altogether, and Ferdinand is almost relieved when they arrive at the door to the bedroom and, after hugging both Lorenz and Dorothea goodbye, he finds himself blessedly alone.

The room, one of the Grand Suites in the Imperial Palace, usually dedicated to hosting foreign dignitaries, has been richly decorated. The massive king-sized bed in the centre of the room is made with silk sheets, and covered in rose petals and brocaded cushions. There are rose bouquets covering all and every flat surfaces in the room, their smell cloying the air with sweetness, and an ice bucket containing a single bottle of Ordelian Champagne, two delicate glass flutes standing next to it.

It is all disgustingly romantic, and a true shame that it will be wasted on Hubert and himself.

The bed is as soft as it looks, and bounces slightly when Ferdinand sits down on top of it. The silk sheets are buttery smooth under his hand, and he forgets himself for a moment, tracing abstract patterns on the luxurious bedding in between the spread of rose petals. It takes him a few tries to get his boots off, his head swimming every time he crouches down, but after a few tries he manages to succeed. His stiff ceremonial coat is next, followed by the cravat, the waistcoat and the shirt. With his top garments off, he proceeds to lie down on the bed, relishing the cool feeling of smooth silk on his bare skin. 

The lights of the candelabra above him shine too bright, and when he closes his eyes he can see dancing spots of colour behind his closed lids. His head pounds in tune with a song he can no longer hear, and he can feel himself hovering in the precipice between awake and sleep.

The sound of muffled voices coming from outside rouses him, his body springing to alertness, even if he does not move from his resting place in the bed. As he strains himself to listen in, he can make out Edelgard’s calm faintly raspy voice and Hubert’s low drawling one. He pushes himself up on his elbows, fighting the dizziness that threatens to overwhelm him, to face the door. The voices draw closer, accompanied by the sound of steps. 

Ferdinand shifts his weight on the mattress to rest on one side, and then shifts back again to lie on his back. He feels stupid and awkward. Should he try for a more enticing pose? He spreads his legs, and crawls up until he can rest his upper torso on a pile of overstuffed pillows. He smooths his hair out, ineffectually trying to get the mess of curls into some semblance of order. Leans back again. He feels even more of a dolt. He is considering just hiding under the covers and faking sleep, when the door finally opens and Hubert makes his way into the room.

Ferdinand has spent the entire day preparing a righteous speech to convey his indignation and feelings at having the trust between them broken so callously. He had a thousand questions prepared about Hubert’s reasons for lying to him, his motives for agreeing to the wedding,and their options for moving forward now as a married couple. In short, Ferdinand had quite a lot to say, but when faced with Hubert, alone, on their honeymoon suite, as Hubert looks over him with an indescribable look lurking behind his eyes, the words fizzle and pop like cheap champagne in his alcohol addled brain.

So, he just gapes at Hubert in a most unattractive manner, spread out on the bed like a wanton whore, most of his clothes lost somewhere at the other end of the room, his hair a frightful mess of curls splashed in all directions, and an unflattering flush steadily creeping from his cheeks down to his very naked chest.

“Hiii…” 

Hubert raises a pointed eyebrow in response. Ferdinand’s blush deepens. He nervously bites his lip, eyes fleeting around the room to avoid looking at his new husband standing at the foot of the bed and giving him a completely baffled look.

“I was… waiting for you” he tries.

“Obviously” is Hubert’s curt response, as his gaze sweeps him from head to toes. There is a strange, alien intensity to his gaze, something Ferdinand does not understand but that gives him goosebumps all the same.

He shivers in anticipation as Hubert shrugs off his jacket and starts to undo his cufflinks with precise, efficient motions. As he follows the movement of those long, leather clad fingers, Ferdinand distantly realises he has never seen Hubert anything but fully dressed, be it his court formal attire or the Academy’s uniform. Seeing him now in nothing but an unbuttoned waistcoat and shirtsleeves, as he tugs at the cravat tied around his neck, feels oddly intimate, and adds a new layer of tension to the room.

And, you know, Ferdinand is still angry at Hubert, furious, actually, but he is also drunk off his ass, and suddenly, inexplicably horny. In his alcoholised mind, there is no question where this is going. As he watches Hubert finally discard his waistcoat, and start on the buttons of his shirt, revealing the tantalising line of his collarbone, Ferdinand knows this is happening. Hurt feelings and betrayals aside, he and Hubert are going to have The Sex.

“Are you gonna get changed or are you too drunk even for that?”

It takes Ferdinand longer than it normally would to process the question. He blinks, mouth hanging agape as he struggles to formulate a response.

“What?”

Genius.

“Your nightclothes, Ferdinand” Hubert elaborates, he speaks slowly and deliberately, as if he were talking to a small child. Ferdinand wants to snap at him to cut the condescending act, but then the last button on the shirt comes loose, and the words die in his mouth. Hubert’s entire torso is a gory map of purple bruises and wicked looking scars, red and angry jagged lines criss-crossed against pale skin, their unnatural shapes, twisting in macabre patterns, betraying their magical origin.

Ferdinand cannot help but stare in morbid fascination, his eyes tracing the abstract patterns etched into Hubert’s skin, over surprisingly defined abs and chest. Such a mutilated body should, by all means, be a repulsive sight, but Ferdinand cannot tear his eyes away. The magical scars and bruises somehow seem to… suit Hubert, they feel as much a part of him as his ever present gloves or his piercing stare. As his eyes trace a fine, pale scar as it disappears down Hubert’s waistband, Ferdinand finds himself wondering how far do the magical vestiges spread.

“Do I need to help you get changed or can you manage on your own?” Hubert insists, a tinge of irritation creeping into his voice at Ferdinand’s lack of response.

“Ghgghh” replies Ferdinand, stuck between defending his ability to undress himself and the temptation of asking Hubert to help him remove his breeches.

“Goddess’ tits, how drunk are you?”

_ Very _, Ferdinand wants to say, but his mind is still firmly stuck on the revelation that is Hubert’s naked chest and his offer to help him undress (and put on his nightclothes, but Ferdinand’s horny, drunk brain is willfully choosing to ignore that last part), so he says nothing, and remains splayed on the bed in all his drunken glory, eyes fixated on that fine, pale line as it sneaks beyond his sight into the dark fabric of Hubert’s breeches.

When he manages to tear away his eyes, and draw them upwards again, he finds Hubert staring right back at him. His eyes are wide, a panicked look to them, even if his chin is raised in defiance, jaw locked and tense, as a furious blush dusts the top of his cheekbones and his ears a bright pink. Ferdinand watches in a daze as Hubert strips off his shirt with angry, jerky movements, eyes locked into his own, even as more marred skin is put on display. The scars are much worse on his arms, pale and red lines offset by dark veins visible under the skin, his hands, when he pulls off his gloves, are an absolute mess of purple, black and red, a Miasma spell made flesh.

“Well?” Hubert’s voice cuts through Ferdinand’s daze, and he starts, blinking, his gaze once again pulled towards burning green eyes “Have you seen enough?” The tone of voice is mocking, but it lacks Hubert’s usual bite, offset instead by a hint of vulnerability, something brittle and hesitant around it.

For the first time in this entire catastrophe of an evening, Ferdinand wishes he was not drunk. If he had his senses about him, he would be able to tell Hubert he has nothing to feel self-conscious about, let him know the magic vestiges carved upon his body like an abstract tattoo are nothing to be ashamed off, for they show his dedication and mastery of the most challenging and dangerous arcane arts. If Ferdinand were sober, he may be able to tell Hubert how, despite all common sense and propriety, he does not find the marks repulsive at all, rather the opposite, in fact. 

If Ferdinand were not drunk, he may have been able to salvage the absolute disaster that his wedding night is turning out to be, but alcohol bloats his mind, slows his thought to a crawl, and fills his head with white fog and static. He just stares, words stuck in his throat, as Hubert glares back at him, shoulders hunched and muscles tense.

“Don’t worry, _ honey” _ Hubert hisses at him, his words sickly sweet with poison “you won’t have to touch me. Seeing as we’re both male, and highly unlikely to be able to produce any offspring between the two, there’s no need for us to consummate this bloody marriage” He angrily pulls a sleep shirt over his head, the loose silk somehow making him appear even more thin and gangly, before he grabs a throw blanket and turns away “I’ll take the couch”

“We can share the bed!” Ferdinand exclaims in a hurry, pulling himself up to a sitting position, and then swaying in place as the entire room seems to tilt on its axis. He closes his eyes to clear the nausea, and when he opens them again is to find Hubert staring back at him, face an indecipherable mask.

“I don’t mind the, uhm, the scars- it’s… that is, we’re married now, so-”

“Fine” Hubert interrupts him before Ferdinand has a chance to make more of a fool of himself than he already has “Thank you” he adds, so low Ferdinand almost misses it.

Ferdinand sits in the bed (_ their _ bed) a knot around his throat, not daring to even move, as Hubert slowly makes his way to the opposite side, eyeing Ferdinand warily, as if expecting him to bolt at any moment. He keeps his eyes focused forward, away from his new bed partner, as Hubert finally pulls down his breeches and fluffs the pillows on his side. 

“Will you get changed?”

“Uh?” 

“Your clothes, Ferdinand, will you get changed?” Hubert is standing by the side of the bed, arms crossed over his chest, and looking at Ferdinand with a tired and (dare he think it?) almost fond expression. 

It is a scarily domestic image, and it strikes Ferdinand how easy he can picture more nights like this. 

“I- Yeah, I will, just…” he clumsily hops off the bed, his steps unsteady as his head swims around once more. With no little effort he manages to find a nightshirt and, with some ungainly hopping around and wavering in place, he finally manages to get himself dressed for bed.

When he gets back to the bed, Hubert is already under the covers, reclining again plush pillows as his eyes follow Ferdinand’s unsteady progress through the room. He looks as tired as Ferdinand himself feels, although probably a bit more sober, and for the first time Ferdinand feels some semblance of solidarity with him, as if, despite the lies and betrayal, Hubert is trapped in this as much as he is.

“Why?” he finally asks as he sits back on the bed. Giving voice to the question that has been plaguing his mind all day “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hubert considers him for a moment, head turned slightly to the side, before he sighs “You’re drunk, Ferdinand. We’ll talk tomorrow, once you’ve sobered up” he adds quickly when Ferdinand opens his mouth to protest.

Ferdinand pouts in response “That’s unfair”

“Yeah, well, life is unfair” Hubert easily replies as he turns on his side, back facing Ferdinand, a clear sign that he considers the conversation done and over with, at least until the next dawn.

Ferdinand huffs, laying down on the bed and pulling the covers tightly around himself. He glares at the back of Hubert’s dark head “Your cheekbones are unfair” he mutters into his pillow, as drowsiness washes over him and pulls him towards sleep.

***

The next morning, Ferdinand wakes up alone and hungover. His head feels as if Edelgard had hit him with her axe, a throbbing, searing pain at the base of his skull that makes even thinking hurt. His mouth is dry, pasty and foul tasting, and he is overcome with nausea the moment he opens his eyes into the brightly lit room.

He does not know how long he lies in bed, slipping in and out of consciousness, and feeling progressively worse each time he manages to force himself to open his eyes, when the door opens and young maid peers inside the room, startling in surprise when she finds Ferdinand’s bleary, reddened eyes fixed on her.

“Oh!” she exclaims, immediately dropping into a curtsy “You’re finally awake, Lord Aegir. I’ll inform the Marquis”

Ferdinand wants to ask her for a glass of water, but he only manages to produce a helpless whimper that goes unheard, as the maid quickly exits the room in a flurry of skirts.

Some more time passes. Ferdinand’s headache does not abate even one bit. He distantly wonders what terrible sins he may have committed against the Goddess for her to punish him so.

After what feels like an eternity, but probably is less than ten minutes, Hubert sweeps into the room, without even bothering to knock, looking as sharp as ever and completely rested and refreshed, the same maid as before following on his trail, a large tray held in her hands.

“Good morning, honey” Hubert greets him, as he pulls open the curtains, flooding the room with blinding white light.

Ferdinand moans in pain, curling into the bed and covering his head with a nearby pillow, as he furiously plots Hubert’s murder. Dorothea and Lorenz will help him, he is sure of it. Not even Edelgard could blame him in the face of so much cruelty. 

There is a clink of metal as the maid deposits the tray on the small bedside table next to Ferdinand. He is immediately assaulted by the smell of freshly brewed tea, cooked eggs and greasy, toasted bacon. He risks peeking out from underneath the pillow to look at a delectable breakfast spread of freshly baked bread, iced butter, crispy sausages and bacon, and runny eggs, made just the way he likes them. His mouth waters, and his stomach grumbles in hunger.

“That will be all, thanks” Hubert’s voice sounds somewhere to his right, and soon after Ferdinand can hear the door closing as the maid exits the room.

The bed dips slightly to the side as Hubert sits himself down, right next to Ferdinand “I thought you may be feeling a bit peckish, after last night”

Ferdinand turns his head to glare at him through reddened, bleary eyes. His hair is tangled in knots, sticking to his sweaty face and mouth, and if he looks as bad as he feels he is sure he must make for a very sorry sight indeed. Hubert, by contrast, looks perfectly composed, his hair combed, his clothes pressed, and even his usually pale and pasty skin has a healthy glow to it.

“Gimme one good reason not to punch you” Ferdinand mutters into the pillow, glaring at Hubert from the corner of his eyes.

“You can’t even get out of bed” Hubert responds with a polite smile.

It is a terrifying sight.

Ferdinand smiles back, wide and full of teeth, despite the intense headache that threatens to split his head in half “For you, darling, I’ll make the effort”

Hubert sighs.

“What about we talk first, like adults?” He asks, presenting Ferdinand with a freshly served cup of tea.

The temptation to just swat the cup of Hubert’s hands and let him be drenched in scalding tea is certainly strong but, even hungover as he is, Ferdinand recognises a peace offering when he sees it. 

He nods.

It takes a few tries to push himself up into a seated position without throwing up all over the bed, but with Hubert’s help he is finally settled against a pile of pillows, and with a cup of tea in his hands.

“I’m listening” He says as he takes a sip. The fragrant, sweet taste characteristic of the exquisite Southern Fruit Blend hits his tongue and filters through his nose. He lets out a small, pleased moan of satisfaction, as he starts to feel just a tiny bit more like a person.

Hubert takes his time, busying himself by buttering up a slice of toast and piling a plate full of sausage, eggs and bacon “The actual arrangement was negotiated by my late father” he finally starts, as he places the plate in Ferdinand’s lap.

Ferdinand ignores the food offering as he takes another sip of tea “I imagined as much, do go on” he says, waving a hand impatiently. 

The look Hubert gives him could almost be described as fond “As you wish” He sneaks a slice of toast off Ferdinand’s plate and munches distractedly on it before continuing “I was not consulted until after the negotiations had been finalised. Had I had my way, you wouldn’t have been told about the engagement itself until after we finished with the Academy, but Duke Aegir was… concerned about you finding yourself a sweetheart in Garreg Mach”

“So you insisted on keeping your identity secret” Ferdinand pushes him, choosing to ignore Father’s lack of faith in his ability to conduct himself as a proper noble.

“It seemed like the better alternative at the time” Hubert says, finishing his slice of toast and dusting off his fingers on the bedspread “I wanted to avoid any unnecessary drama during our stay at the Academy”

Ferdinand would like to protest, but he very distinctly remembers how bad their relationship was in their early days at Garreg Mach, prior to their little information exchange arrangement. Had he been aware that Hubert was to be his future husband, before he had the chance to grow to know him better, he probably would have thrown a much bigger fit about the whole engagement, noble duties notwithstanding.

“And after?” He asks instead “Why not tell me once I was appointed as Ambassador?”

“Well…” Hubert shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Were he anyone else, Ferdinand would have thought he looked bashful, but Hubert is far too controlled and self-composed for that, settling instead on something close to mildly inconvenienced “I had hoped to void the engagement altogether, so you would have never found out”

Even if he had never planned on marrying Hubert, and still resents the fact that the marriage actually happened, Ferdinand feels slightly hurt upon learning Hubert had no intention of marrying him either. It is a silly, vain and selfish feeling, but he cannot help but feel as if it is Ferdinand himself, rather than the actual marriage, that Hubert objects to.

“What prevented you from annulling it?” He asks, doing his best to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He is not entirely sure he succeeds “Your father passed away moons ago, as the new Marquis Vestra you should have been able to re-negotiate your own marriage”

“Indeed” Hubert agrees “That would have usually been the case, but the agreement between my father and Duke Aegir proved to be… harder to break than I expected”

It is not the full truth, if Ferdinand were to guess, he would say it is probably not even half of it, but he chooses not to press the issue. Whatever Hubert’s reasons for going ahead with the marriage are, he clearly does not want to share them, and questioning him further is going to take Ferdinand nowhere, and will just serve to make this marriage more awkward and strained than it already is.

(Also, Ferdinand is not too keen on hearing that Hubert only married him for Empress and Country, or some other similar loyalist bullshit that only makes sense in his convoluted mind)

“And you didn’t tell me then about the engagement, because…?”

Hubert huffs off a self-deprecating laugh “Believe it or not, I valued the little friendship we had managed to cultivate while you were away. I feared once you knew about the engagement, your view of me would change”

“It changed now,” Ferdinand rebates “and not exactly for the better”

“Yes, I had gathered that” A sigh, followed by a pause, as Hubert seems to study Ferdinand “A miscalculation on my part”

“Ha! I never thought I’d see the day” Ferdinand exclaims “Hubert von Vestra admitting a mistake, and I thought our wedding was the most bizarre event I would live through this week” 

Hubert glares at him, but there is no true heat behind it. Ferdinand smiles back in return, leaning back against his pillows, his cup of tea carefully cradled between his hands.

“Yeah, well” Hubert mutters turning his head away “it seems even I make some of those, especially where you are concerned” he adds, the top of his ears colouring pink.

Ferdinand can feel an answering flush spread across his own cheeks at the backhanded compliment. He glances down to look at the cup in his hands, tracing the slightly damp rim with his finger, the gold shine of his wedding band misting over with the steam still emanating from the tea.

“For what is worth, I never meant for you to get hurt” Hubert says, quietly, almost too low for Ferdinand to hear.

Ferdinand glances up to look at him “I know. But I still did”

Hubert hums in response, seemingly lost in his own thoughts as he picks apart another slice of toast, breaking it into little crumbs all over the tray. Ferdinand figures this is as much of an apology as he is ever likely to get out of him. It is not enough to rebuild the broken trust, not yet, but it is enough to set the base for a new beginning and, for now, Ferdinand figures it will have to make do.

Like it or not, they are married now, for the good, and the bad, until death do them part. Holding a grudge will do none of them any good, so Ferdinand will look forward and strive to make this work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was one long wedding. I had originally planned to cover their first weeks as newlyweds as well, but the word count for this one was getting out of hand.
> 
> If Ferdinand's behaviour this chapter seems a bit weird and erratic, please, remember he is absolutely smashed for about half of it. Acts and thoughts he may have been able to repress when sober just slip through when drunk (also, random horniness when drunk is totally a thing, and poor Ferdie is a 20 year old virgin at this point, he's desperate for it)
> 
> Next chapter it's back to Hubert's POV, as the two idiots learn to live as a married couple (or try to). I will probably not post it until after Ferdibert Week, as I desperately need to focus on my one (1) entry for the event (I may try some fanart, but... TIME)


End file.
